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THIS NUMBER CONTAINS 

. DALLAM’S COMPANION. 

By MRS. MARY J. HOLMES, 

Author of “Tempest and Sunshine,” “'Lena Kivers,” “Gretchen,” “Marguerite,” etc., etc. 

COMPLETE. 

ALSO, 

“A CREED OF MANNERS,” By the author of “Dodo.” 




MONTHLY MAGAZINE 
LIPPIHCOTTS, contents Ho. 324. 


MRS. HALLAM’S COMPANION 




Mrs. Mary J. Holmes . 

721-805 

Shooting Bob White 




. Calvin Dill Wilson 

806 

Shall I Study Medicine ? . 





811 

A Western Daisy Miller . 




. Claude M. Girardeau . 

814 

Thanksgiving (Poem) 




. Susie M. Best 

822 

Living Pictures at the Louvre . 




. Alvan N. Sanborn 

823 

Victory (Poem) .... 




. Florence Earle Coates . 

. 827 

A Creed of Manners . 





828 

Don Jaime, of Mission San Jos6 . 




. Charles Howard Shinn . 

834 

A Live Ghost 




. Ellen Mackubin 

839 

A Voice from the Night (Poem) 




. H. Prescott Beach . 

845 

Some Notable Women of the Past 




. Esvte Stuart . 

846 

An Odd Neighbor .... 




. Charles C. Abbott . 

. 857 

Ghosts (Quatrain) .... 




. Clarence Urviy 

861 

Talks with the Trade: the Personal 

Element 

. ..... 

862 


PRICE TWENTY-FIVE CENTS 


PUBLISHED BY 

J: B: LI PPINCOTT:C2: PHILADELPH I A : 

LONDON: WARD, LOCK, BOWDEN & CO. 

PARIS: BRENTANO’S, 17 AVENUE DE L’OPERA. 

Copyright, 1894, by J. B. Lippincott Company. Entered at Philadelphia Post-Office as second-class matter. 




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Mrs. Hallam’s Companion. 


BY 

MRS. MARY J. HOLMES, 

AUTHOR OF “TEMPEST AND SUNSHINE,” “’LENA RIVERS,” “ GRETCHEN,” 
“MARGUERITE,” “THE HEPBURN LINE,” ETC. 



3 




V 

NOV 8018 V 

'Vi 

H h* 3 W ** 


PHILADELPHIA: 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. 


Copyright, 1894, by Mrs. Mary J. Holmes. 


Printed by J. B. Lippincott Company, Philadelphia, U.S.A. 


LIPPINCOTT’S 

MONTHLY MAGAZINE. 


DECEMBER, 189 4. 


MRS. HALLAM’S COMPANION. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE HALLAMS. 

M RS. CARTER HALLAM was going to Europe, — going to Aix- 
les-Bains, — partly for the baths, which she hoped would lessen 
her fast-increasing avoirdupois, and partly, to join her intimate friend, 
Mrs. Walker Haynes, who had urged her coming and had promised to 
introduce her to some of the best people, both English and American. 
This attracted Mrs. Hallam more than the baths. She was anxious to 
know the best people, and she did know a good many, although her 
name was not in the list of the four hundred. But she meant it should 
be there in the near future, nor did it seem unlikely that it might be. 
There was not so great a distance between the four hundred and her- 
self, as she was now, as there was between Mrs. Carter Hallam and 
little Lucy Brown, who used to live with her grandmother in an old 
yellow house in Sturbridge, Massachusetts, and pick berries to buy her- 
self a pair of morocco boots. Later on, when the grandmother was 
dead and the yellow house sold, Lucy had worked first in a shoe-shop 
and then in a dry-goods store in Worcester, where, attracted by her 
handsome face, Carter Hallam, a thriving grocer, had made her his 
wife and mistress of a pretty little house on the west side of the city. 
As a clerk she had often waited upon the West Side ladies, whom she 
admired greatly, fancying she could readily distinguish them from the 
ladies of the more democratic East Side. To marry a Hallam was a 
great honor, but to be a West-Sider, as she called them, was a greater, 
and when both came to her she nearly lost her balance, although her 
home was far removed from the aristocratic quarters where the old 
families, the real West-Siders, lived. In a way she was one of them, 
she thought, or at least she was no longer a clerk, and she began to cut 
her old acquaintances, while her husband laughed at and ridiculed her, 
wondering what difference it made whether one lived on the east or 
west side of a town. He did not care whether people took him for a 


724 


MRS. HALL AM'S COMPANION. 


nabob, or a fresh importation from the wild and woolly West: he was 
just Carter Hal lam, a jolly, easy-going fellow whom everybody knew 
and everybody liked. He, too, was born on a farm in Leicester, where 
the Hallams, although comparatively poor, were held in high esteem 
as one of the best and oldest families. At twenty-one he came into 
possession of a few thousand dollars left him by an uncle for whom he 
was named, and then he went to the Far West, roughing it with cow- 
boys and ranchmen, and investing his money in a gold-mine in Mon- 
tana and in lands still farther west. Then he returned to Worcester, 
bought a small grocery, married Lucy Brown, and lived quietly for a 
few years, when suddenly one day there flashed across the wires the 
news that his mine had proved one of the richest in Montana, and his 
lands were worth many times what he gave for them. He was a 
millionaire, with property constantly rising in value, and Worcester 
could no longer hold his ambitious wife. 

It was too small a place for her, she said, for everybody knew 
everybody else’s business and history, and, no matter how much she 
was worth, or how much style she put on, somebody was sure to taunt 
her with having worked in a shoe-shop, if, indeed, she did not hear 
that she had once picked berries to buy herself some shoes. They 
must go away from the old life, if they wanted to be anybody. They 
must travel and see the world, and get cultivated, and know what to 
talk about with their equals. 

So they sold the house and the grocery and travelled east and west, 
north and south, and finally went to Europe, where they stayed two or 
three years, seeing nearly everything there was to be seen, and learning 
a great deal about ruins and statuary and pictures, in which Mrs. Hal- 
lam thought herself a connoisseur, although she occasionally got the 
Sistine Chapel and the Sistine Madonna badly mixed, and talked of 
the Paul Belvedere, a copy of which she bought at an enormous price. 
When they returned to America Mr. Hallam was a three-times mil- 
lionaire, for all his speculations had been successful and his mine was 
still yielding its annual harvest of gold. A handsome house on Fifth 
Avenue in New York was bought and furnished in the most approved 
style, and then Mrs. Hallam began to consider the best means of get- 
ting into society. She already knew a good many New York people 
whom she had met abroad and whose acquaintance it was desirable to 
continue. But she soon found that acquaintances made in Paris or 
Pome or on the Nile were not as cordial when met at home, and she 
was beginning to feel discouraged, when chance threw in her way Mrs. 
Walker Haynes, who, with the bluest of blood and the smallest of 
purses, knew nearly every one worth knowing, and, it was hinted, 
would for a quid pro quo open many fashionable doors to aspiring ap- 
plicants who, without her aid, would probably stay outside forever. 

The daughter and grand-daughter and cousin of governors and 
senators and judges, with a quiet assumption of superiority which was 
seldom offensive to those whom she wished to conciliate, she was a 
power in society, and more quoted and courted than any woman in her 
set. To be noticed by Mrs. Walker Haynes was usually a guarantee 
of success, and Mrs. Hallam was greatly surprised when one morning 


MPS. HALL AM'S COMPANION. 


725 


a handsome coupe stopped before her door and a moment after her 
maid brought her Mrs. Walker Haynes's card. She knew all about 
Mrs. Walker Haynes and what she was capable of doing, and in a 
flutter of excitement she went down to meet her. Mrs. Walker 
Haynes, who never took people up if there was anything doubtful in 
their antecedents, knew all about Mrs. Hallam, even to the shoe-shop 
and the clerkship. But she knew, too, that she was perfectly respect- 
able, with no taint whatever upon her character, and that she was 
anxious to get into society. As it chanced, Mrs. Haynes's funds were 
low, for business was dull, as there were fewer human moths than 
usual hovering around the social candle, and when the ladies of the 
church which both she and Mrs. Hallam attended met to devise ways 
and means for raising money for some new charity she spoke of Mrs. 
Hallam and offered to call upon her for a subscription, if the ladies 
wished it. They did wish it, and the next day found Mrs. Haynes 
waiting in Mrs. Hallam's drawing-room for the appearance of its mis- 
tress, her quick-seeing eyes taking in every detail in its furnishing, and 
deciding on the whole that it was very good. 

“ Some one has taste, — the upholsterer and decorator, probably," 
she thought, as Mrs. Hallam came in, nervous and flurried, but at once 
put at ease by her visitor's gracious and friendly manner. 

After a few general topics and the mention of a mutual friend 
whom Mrs. Hallam had met in Cairo, Mrs. Haynes came directly to 
the object of her visit, apologizing first for the liberty she was taking, 
and adding, “But now that you are one of us in the church, I thought 
you might like to help us, and we need it so much." 

Mrs. Hallam was not naturally generous where nothing was to be 
gained, but Mrs. Haynes's manner and her “ now you are one of us" 
made her so in this instance, and taking the paper she wrote her name 
for two hundred dollars, which was nearly one-fourth of the desired 
sum. There was a gleam of humor as well as of surprise in Mrs. 
Haynes's eyes as she read the amount, but she was profuse in her 
thanks and expressions of gratitude, and, promising to call very soon 
socially, she took her leave with a feeling that it would pay to take up 
Mrs. Hallam, who was really more lady-like and better educated than 
many whom she had launched upon the sea of fashion. With Mrs. 
Walker Haynes and several millions behind her, progress was easy for 
Mrs. Hallam, and within a year she was quite “ in the swim," she said 
to her husband, who laughed at her as he had done in Worcester, and 
called Mrs. Haynes a fraud who knew what she was about. But he 
gave her all the money she wanted, and rather enjoyed seeing her 
“ hob-a-nob with the big bugs," as he expressed it. Nothing, however, 
could change him, and he remained the same unostentatious, popular 
man he had always been up to the day of his death, which occurred 
about three years before our story opens. 

At that time there was living with him his nephew, the son of his 
only brother, Jack. Reginald— or Rex, as he was familiarly called — 
was a young man of twenty-six, with exceptionally good habits, and a 
few days before his uncle died he said to him, “ I can trust you, Rex. 
You have lived with me since you were fourteen, and have never once 


726 


MRS. HALL A M’S COMPANION. 


failed me. The Hallams are all honest people, and you are half Hal- 
lam. I have made you independent by my will, and I want you to 
stay with your aunt and look after her affairs. She is as good a 
woman as ever lived, but a little off on fashion and fol-de-rol. Keep 
her as level as you can.” 

This Rex had tried to do, rather successfully, too, except when Mrs. 
Walker Haynes’s influence was in the ascendant, when he usually suc- 
cumbed to circumstances and allowed his aunt to do as she pleased. 
Mrs. Haynes, who had profited greatly in a pecuniary way from her 
acquaintance with Mrs. Hallam, was now in Europe, and had written 
her friend to join her at Aix-les- Bains, which she said was a charming 
place, full of titled people both English and French, and she had the 
entree to the very best circles. She further added that it was desirable 
for a lady travelling without a male escort to have a companion besides 
a maid and courier. The companion was to be found in America, the 
courier in London, and the maid in Paris; “ after which,” she wrote, 
“ you will travel tout-d-fait en princesse.” The en princesse appealed to 
Mrs. Hallam at once as something altogether applicable to Mrs. Carter 
Hallam, of New York. She was a great lady now ; Sturbridge and 
the old yellow house and the berries and the shoe-shop were more than 
thirty years in the past, and so covered over with gold that it seemed 
impossible to uncover them ; nor had any one tried, so far as she knew. 
The Hallams as a family had been highly respected both in Worcester 
and Leicester, and she often spoke of them, but never of the Browns 
or of the old grandmother, and she was glad she had no near relatives 
to intrude themselves upon her and make her ashamed. She was very 
fond and very proud of Reginald, who was to her like a son, and who 
with the integrity and common sense of the Hallams had also inherited 
the innate refinement and kindly courtesy of his mother, a Bostonian 
and the daughter of a clergyman. As a rule, she consulted him about 
everything, and after she received Mrs. Haynes’s letter she showed it 
to him and asked his advice in the matter of a companion. 

“ I think she would be a nuisance and frightfully in your way at 
times, but if Mrs. Haynes says you must have one, it is all right, so 
go ahead,” Rex replied. 

His aunt continued, “But how am I to find what I want? I am 
so easily imposed upon, and I will not have one from the city. She 
would expect too much and make herself too familiar. I must have 
one from the country.” 

“Advertise, then, and they’ll come round you like bees around 
honey,” Rex said, and to this suggestion his aunt at once acceded, ask- 
ing him to write the advertisement, which she dictated, with so many 
conditions and requirements that Rex exclaimed, “ Hold on there. 
You will insist next that they subscribe to the Thirty-Nine Articles, 
besides believing in foreordination and everything in the Westminster 
Catechism. You are demanding impossibilities and giving too little in 
return. Three hundred dollars for perfection ! I should say offer five 
hundred. ‘ The higher-priced the better’ is Mrs. Walker Haynes’s 
motto, and I am sure she will think it far more tony to have an ex- 
pensive appendage' than a cheap one. The girl will earn her money, 


MRS. HALLAM 'S COMPANION. 727 

too, or Fin mistaken ; for Mrs. Haynes is sure to share her services 
with you, as she does everything else.” 

He spoke laughingly, but sarcastically, for he perfectly understood 
Mrs. Walker Haynes, whom his outspoken uncle had called “a sponge 
and a schemer, who knew how to feather her nest.” Privately Rex 
thought the same, but he did not often express these views to his aunt, 
who at last consented to the five hundred dollars. Rex wrote the 
advertisement, which was as follows : 

“ Wanted, 

“ A companion for a lady who is going abroad. One from the 
country, between twenty and twenty-five, preferred. She must be a 
good accountant, a good reader, and a good seamstress. She must also 
have a sufficient knowledge of French to understand the language and 
make herself understood. To such a young lady five hundred dollars 
a year will be given, and all expenses paid. Address 
“Mrs. Carter Hallam, 

“ No. — Fifth Avenue, New York.” 

When Rex read this to his aunt she said, “ Yes, that will do ; but 
don’t you think it just as well to say young person instead of young 
lady f” 

“ No, I don’t,” Rex answered, promptly. “ You want a lady, and 
not a person , as you understand the word, and I wouldn’t begin by 
insulting her.” 

So the “lady” was allowed to stand, and then, without his aunt’s 
knowledge, Rex added, “ Those applying will please send their photo- 
graphs.” 

“ I should like to see the look of astonishment on aunt’s face when 
the pictures come pouring in. There will be scores of them, the offer 
is so good,” Rex thought, as he folded the advertisement and left the 
house. 

That night, when dinner was over, he said to his aunt, “ I have a 
project in mind which I wish to tell you about.” 

Mrs. Hallam gave a little shrug of annoyance. Her husband had 
been full of projects, most of which she had disapproved, as she prob- 
ably should this of Rex. He continued, “I am thinking of buying 
a place in the country, — the real country, I mean, — where" the houses 
are old-fashioned and far apart, and there are woods and ponds and 
brooks and things.” 

“And pray what would you do with such a place?” Mrs. Hallam 
asked. 

Rex replied, “Fd make it into a fancy farm and fill it with 
blooded stock, hunting-horses, and dogs. I’d keep the old house intact 
so far as architecture is concerned, and fit it up as a kind of bachelors’ 
hall, where I can have a lot of fellows in the summer and fall, and 
hunt and fish and have a glorious time. Ladies will not be excluded, 
of course, and when you are fagged out with Saratoga and Newport I 
shall invite you, and possibly Mrs. Haynes and Grace, down to see the 


728 


MRS. HAL LA M'S COMPANION. 


fox-hunts I mean to have, just as they do in the Genesee Valley. 
Won’t it be fun ?” 

Rex was eloquent on the subject of his fancy farm. He was very 
fond of the country, although he really knew but little about it, as he 
was born in New York, and had lived there all his life with the ex- 
ception of two years spent at the South with his mother’s brother and 
four years at Yale. His aunt, on the contrary, detested the country, 
with its woods and ponds and brooks and old-fashioned houses, and 
she felt very little interest in Rex’s fancy farm and fox-hunts, which 
she looked upon as wholly visionary. She asked him, however, where 
the farm was, and he replied, u You see, Marks, who is in the office 
with me, has a client who owns a mortgage on some old homestead 
among the hills in Massachusetts. This mortgage, which has changed 
hands two or three times and been renewed once or twice, comes due in 
October, and Marks says there is not much probability that the old 
man — I believe he is quite old — can pay it, and the place will be sold 
at auction. I can, of course, wait and bid it off cheap, as farms are 
not in great demand in that vicinity ; but I don’t like to do that. I’d 
rather buy it outright, giving the old fellow more than it is worth 
rather than less. Marks says it is a rambling old house, with three or 
four gables, and stands on a hill-side with a fine view of the surround- 
ing country. The woods are full of pleasant drives, and ponds where 
the white lilies grow and where I can fish and have some small boats.” 

“ But where is it ? In what town, I mean ?” Mrs. Hallam asked, 
with a slight tremor in her voice, which, however, Rex did not notice 
as he answered, “I don’t remember where Marks’s client said it was, 
but I have his letter. Let me see.” And, taking the letter from his 
pocket, he glanced at it a moment, and then said, “ It is in Leicester, 
and not more than five or six miles from the city of Worcester and 
Lake Quinsigamond, where I mean to have a yacht and call it the 
Lucy Hallam for you. Why, auntie, it has just occurred to me that 
you once lived in Worcester, and Uncle Hallam, too, and that he and 
father were born in Leicester. Were you ever there, — at the house 
where father was born, I mean ? But of course you have been.” 

Rex had risen to his feet and stood leaning on the mantel and 
looking at his aunt with an eager, expectant expression on his face. 
She was pale to her lips as she replied, “ Yes, I was there just after 
I was married. Your uncle drove me out one afternoon to see the 
place. Strangers were living there then, for his father and mother 
were dead. He was as country mad as you are, and actually went 
down upon his knees before the old well-sweep and bucket.” 

“ I don’t blame him. I believe I’d do the same,” Rex replied, 
and then went on questioning her rapidly. “ What was the house 
like? Had it a big chimney in the centre?” 

Mrs. Hallam said it had. 

“ Wide fireplaces?” 

“ Rather wide, — yes.” 

“ Kitchen fireplace, with a crane ?” 

“ I don’t know, but most likely.” 

“ Little window-panes, and deep window-seats ?” 


MRS. HALL AM'S COMPANION. 


729 


“ I think so.” 

“ Big iron door-latches instead of knobs ?” 

“ Yes, and a brass knocker.” 

“ Slanting roof, or high ?” 

“It was a high gabled roof, — three or four gables, and must have 
been rather pretentious when it was new. 

“ Rex,” — and Mrs. Hallam’s voice trembled perceptibly, — “ the 
gables and the situation overlooking the valley make me think that 
the place you have in view is possibly your father’s old home.” 

“By Jove,” Rex exclaimed, “ wouldn’t that be jolly! I believe 
I’d give a thousand dollars extra for the sake of having the old home- 
stead for my own. I wonder who the old chap is who lives there. I 
mean to go down and see for myself as soon as I return from Chicago 
and we get the lawsuit olf our hands which is taking all Marks’s time 
and mine.” 

Mrs. Hal lam did not say what she thought, for she knew there 
was not much use in opposing Rex, but in her heart she did not 
approve of bringing the long-buried past up to the present, which was 
so different. The Homestead was well enough, and Leicester was well 
enough, for Hallam had been an honored name in the neighborhood, 
and Rex would be honored, too, as a scion of the family ; but it was 
too near Worcester and the shoe-shop and the store and the people 
who had known her as a working-girl, and who would be sure to 
renew the acquaintance if she were to go there. She had no relatives 
to trouble her, unless it were a certain Phineas Jones, who was so far 
removed that she could scarcely call him a relative. But if he were 
living he would certainly find her if she ventured near him, and 
cousin her, as he used to do in Worcester, where he was continually 
calling upon her after her marriage and reminding her of spelling- 
schools and singing-schools and circuses which he said he had attended 
with her. How distasteful it all was, and how she shrank from 
everything pertaining to her early life, which seemed so far away that 
she sometimes half persuaded herself it had never been ! 

And yet her talk with Rex about the old homestead on the hill 
had stirred her strangely, and that night, long after her usual hour for 
retiring, she sat by her window looking out upon the great city, whose 
many lights, shining like stars through the fog and rain, she scarcely 
saw at all. Her thoughts had gone back thirty .years to an October 
day just after her return from her wedding-trip to Niagara, when her 
husband had driven her into the country to visit his old home. How 
happy he had been, and how vividly she could recall the expression 
on his face when he caught sight of the red gables and the well-sweep 
where she told Reginald he had gone down upon his knees. There 
had been a similar expression on Rex’s face that evening when he 
talked of his fancy farm, and Rex was in appearance much like what 
her handsome young husband had been that lovely autumn day, when 
a purple haze was resting on the hills and the air was soft and warm 
as summer. He had taken her first to the woods and shown her where 
he and his brother Jack had set their traps for the woodchucks and 
snared the partridges in the fall and hunted for the trailing arbutus 


730 


MRS. II ALL AM'S COMPANION. 


and the sassafras in the spring; then to the old cider-mill at the end 
of the lane, and to the hill where they had their slide in winter, and 
to the barn, where they had a swing, and to the brook in the orchard, 
where they had a water-wheel ; then to the well, where he drew up the 
bucket, and, poising it upon the curb, stooped to drink from it, asking 
her to do the same and see if she ever quaffed a sweeter draught ; but 
she was afraid of wetting her dress, and had drawn back, saying she 
was not thirsty. Strangers occupied the house, but permission was 
given them to go over it, and he had taken her through all the rooms, 
showing her where he and Jack and Annie were born, and where the 
latter had died when a little child of eight ; then to the garret, where 
they spread the hickory-nuts and butternuts to dry, and down to the 
cellar, where the apples and cider were stored. He was like a school- 
boy in his eagerness to explain everything, while she was bored to 
death and heard with dismay his proposition to drive two or three 
miles farther to the Greenville cemetery, where the Hallams for many 
generations back had been buried. There was a host of them, and 
some of the head-stones were sunken and mouldy with age and half 
fallen down, while the lettering upon them was almost illegible. 

“I wonder whose this is?” he said, as he went down upon the 
ground to decipher the date of the oldest one. “ I can’t make it out, 
except that it is seventeen hundred and something. He must have 
been an old settler,” he continued, as he arose and brushed a patch of 
dirt from his trousers with his silk handkerchief. Then, glancing at 
her as she stood listlessly leaning against a stone, he said, “ Why, Lucy, 
you look tired. Are you ?” 

“No, not very,” she answered, a little pettishly; “but I don’t 
think it very exhilarating business for a bride to be visiting the graves 
of her husband’s ancestors.” 

He did not hunt for any more dates after that, but, gathering a few 
wild flowers growing in the tall grass, he laid them upon his mother’s 
grave and Annie’s, and, going out to the carriage standing by the gate, 
drove back to Worcester through a long stretch of woods, where the 
road was lined on either side with sumachs and berry-bushes and 
clumps of bitter-sweet, and there was no sign of life except when a 
blackbird flew from one tree to another, or a squirrel showed its bushy 
tail upon the wall. He thought it delightful, and said that it was 
the pleasantest drive in the neighborhood and one which he had often 
taken with Jack when they were boys ; but she thought it horribly 
lonesome and poky, and was glad when they struck the pavement of 
the town. 

“Carter always liked the country,” she said to herself when her 
revery came to an end and she left her seat by the window ; “ and Eex 
is just like him, and will buy that place if he can, and I shall have to 
go there as hostess and be called upon by a lot of old women in sun- 
bonnets and blanket shawls, who will call me Lucy Ann and say, ‘You 
remember me, don’t you? I was Mary Jane Smith ; I worked in the 
shoe-shop with you years ago.’ And Phineas Jones will turn up, with 
his cousining and dreadful reminiscences. Ah me, what a pity one 
could not be born without antecedents !” 


MRS. II ALL A M’S COMPANION. 


731 


CHAPTER II. 

THE HOMESTEAD. 

It stood at the end of a grassy avenue or lane a little distance from 
the electric road between Worcester and Spencer, its outside chimneys 
covered with woodbine and its sharp gables distinctly visible as the 
cars wound up the steep Leicester hill. Just what its age was no one 
knew exactly. Relic-hunters who revel in antiquities put it at one 
hundred and fifty. But the oldest inhabitant in the town, who was an 
authority for everything ancient, said that when he was a small boy it 
was comparatively new and considered very fine on account of its gables 
and brass knocker, and, as he was ninety-five or -six, the house was 
probably over a hundred. It was built by a retired sea-captain from 
Nantucket, and after his death it changed hands several times until it 
was bought by the Hallams, who lived there so long and were so highly 
esteemed that it came to bear their name and was known as the Hallam 
Homestead. After the death of Carter Hallam’s father it was occupied 
by different parties, and finally became the property of a Mr. Leigh- 
ton, who rather late in life had married a girl from Georgia, where he 
had been for a time a teacher. Naturally scholarly and fond of books, 
he would have preferred teaching, but his young wife, accustomed to 
plantation life, said she should be happier in the country, and so he 
bought the Homestead and commenced farming, with very little knowl- 
edge of what ought to be done and very little means with which to do it. 
Under such circumstances he naturally grew poorer every year, while 
his wife’s artistic tastes did not help the matter. Remembering her 
father’s plantation with its handsome grounds and gardens, she insti- 
tuted numerous changes in and about the house, which made it more 
attractive, but did not add to its value. The big chimney was taken 
down and others built upon the outside, after the Southern style. A 
wide hall was put through the centre where the chimney had been ; a 
broad double piazza was built in front, while the ground was terraced 
down to the orchard below, where a rustic bridge was thrown across 
the little brook in which Carter and Jack Hallam had built their water- 
wheel. Other changes the ambitious little Georgian was contemplating, 
when she died suddenly and was carried back to sleep under her native 
pines, leaving her husband utterly crushed at his loss, with the care of 
two little girls, Dorcas and Bertha, and a mortgage of two thousand 
dollars upon his farm. For some years he scrambled on as best he 
could with hired help, giving all his leisure time to educating and 
training his daughters, who were as unlike each other as two sisters 
well could be. Dorcas, the elder, was fair and blue-eyed, and round 
and short and matter-of-fact, caring more for the farm and the house 
than for books, while Bertha was just the opposite, and, with her soft 
brown hair, bright eyes, brilliant complexion, and graceful, slender 
figure, was the exact counterpart of her beautiful Southern mother when 
she first came to the Homestead ; but otherwise she was like her father, 
caring more for books than for the details of every-day life. 

“ Dorcas is to be housekeeper, and I the wage-earner, to help pay 
off the mortgage which troubles father so much,” she said, and when 


732 


MRS. HALL AM'S COMPANION. 


she was through school she became book-keeper for the firm of Swartz 
& Co., of Boston, with a salary of four hundred dollars a year. Dorcas, 
who was two years older, remained at home as housekeeper. And a 
very thrifty one she made, seeing to everything and doing everything, 
from making butter to making beds, for she kept no help. The 
money thus saved was put carefully by towards paying the mortgage 
coming due in October. By the closest economy it had been reduced 
from two thousand to one thousand, and both Dorcas and Bertha were 
straining every nerve to increase the fund which was to liquidate 
the debt. 

It was not very often that Bertha indulged in the luxury of coming 
home, for even that expense was something, and every dollar helped. 
But on the Saturday following the appearance of Mrs. Hallam’s adver- 
tisement in the New York Herald she was coming to spend Sunday 
for the first time in several weeks. These visits were great events at 
the Homestead, and Dorcas was up as soon as the first robin chirped in 
his nest in the big apple-tree which shaded the rear of the house and 
was now odorous and beautiful with its clusters of pink-and- white 
blossoms. There was churning to do that morning, and butter to get 
off to market, besides the usual Saturday’s cleaning and baking, which 
included all Bertha’s favorite dishes. There was Bertha’s room to be 
gone over with broom and duster, and all the vases and handleless 
pitchers to be filled with daffies and tulips and great bunches of apple- 
blossoms and a clump or two of the trailing arbutus which had lingered 
late in the woods. But Dorcas’s work was one of love ; if she were 
tired she scarcely thought of it at all, and kept steadily on until every- 
thing was done. In her afternoon gown and white apron she sat down 
to rest awhile upon the piazza overlooking the valley, thinking as she did 
so what a lovely old place it was, with its large sunny rooms, wide 
hall, and fine view, and how dreadful it would be to lose it. 

“ Five hundred dollars more we must have, and where it is to come 
from I do not know. Bertha always says something will turn up, but 
I am not so hopeful,” she said, sadly. Then, glancing at the clock, 
she saw that it was nearly time for the car which would bring her 
sister from the Worcester station. “I’ll go out to the cross-road and 
meet her,” she thought, just as she heard the sharp clang of the bell 
and saw the trolley-pole as it came up the hill. A moment more, and 
Bertha alighted and came rapidly towards her. 

“ You dear old Dor, I’m so glad to see you and be home again,” 
Bertha said, giving up her satchel and umbrella and putting her arm 
caressingly around Dorcas’s neck as she walked, for she was much the 
taller of the two. 

It was a lovely May afternoon, and the place was at its best in the 
warm sunlight, with the fresh green grass and the early flowers and 
the apple orchard full of blossoms which filled the air with perfume. 

“Oh, this is delightful, and it is so good to get away from that 
close office and breathe this pure air,” Bertha said, as she went from 
room to room, and then out upon the piazza, where she stood taking in 
deep inhalations and seeming to Dorcas to grow brighter and fresher with 
each one. “ Where is father ?” she asked at last. 


MRS. HALL A M’S COMPANION. 


733 


“ Here, daughter,” was answered, as Mr. Leighton, who had been to 
the village, came through a rear door. 

He was a tall, spare man, with snowy hair and a stoop in his 
shoulders, which told of many years of hard work. But the refine- 
ment in his manner and the gentleness in his face were indicative of 
good breeding and a life somewhat different from that which he now 
led. Bertha was at his side in a moment, had him down in a rocking- 
chair, and was sitting on an arm of it, brushing the thin hair back from 
his forehead, while she looked anxiously into his face, which wore a 
more troubled expression than usual, although he evidently tried to 
hide it. 

“ What is it, father ? Are you very tired ?” she asked, at last, 
and he replied, “ No, daughter, not very ; and if I were, the sight of 
you would rest me.” 

Catching sight of the corner of an envelope in his vest-pocket, 
with a woman’s quick intuition she guessed that it had something to 
do with his sadness. “You have a letter. Is there anything in it 
about that hateful mortgage ?” she said. 

“ It is all about the mortgage. There’s a way to get rid of it,” 
he answered, while his voice trembled and something in his eyes, as he 
looked into Bertha’s, made her shiver a little; but she kissed him 
lovingly, and said, very low, “ Yes, father. I know there is a way,” 
her lips quivering as she said it, and a lump rising in her throat as if 
she were smothering. 

“Will you read the letter?” he asked, and she answered, “Not 
now ; let us have supper first. I am nearly famished, and long to get 
at Dor’s rolls and broiled chicken, which I smelled before I left the 
car at the cross-road.” 

She was very gay all through the supper, although a close observer 
might have seen a cloud cross her bright face occasionally, and a 
look of pain and preoccupation in her eyes ; but she laughed and 
chatted merrily, asking about the neighbors and the farm, and when 
supper was over helped Dorcas with her dishes and the evening work, 
sang snatches of the last opera, and told her sister about the new bell- 
skirt just coming into fashion and how she could cut over her old 
ones like it. When everything was done she seemed to nerve herself 
to some great effort, and, going to her father, said, “ Now for the letter. 
From whom is it ?” 

“ Gorham, the man who holds the mortgage,” Mr. Leighton replied. 

“ Oh-h, Gorham !” and Bertha’s voice was full of intense relief. 

“ I thought perhaps it was but no matter : that will come later. 

Let us hear what Mr. Gorham has to say. He cannot foreclose till 
October, anyhow.” 

“ And not then, if we do what he proposes. This is it,” Mr. Leigh- 
ton said, as he began to read the letter, which was as follows : 

, “ Brooklyn, N.Y., May — , 18—. 

“ Mr. Leighton : 

“Dear Sir, — A gentleman in New York wishes to purchase a 
farm in the country, where he can spend a part of the summer and 


734 


MRS. HALL AM'S COMPANION. 


autumn, fishing and fox-hunting and so on. From what he has heard 
of your place and the woods around it, he thinks it will suit him ex- 
actly, and in the course of a few weeks proposes to go out and see it. 
As he has ample means, he will undoubtedly pay you a good price 
cash down, and that will relieve you of all trouble with the mortgage. 
I still think I must have my money in October, as I have promised it 
elsewhere. 

“ Very truly, 

“John Gorham.” 

“ Well ?” Mr. Leighton said, as he finished reading the letter and 
looked inquiringly at his daughters. 

Bertha, who was very pale, was the first to speak. “ Do you want to 
leave the old home?” she asked, and her father replied, in a choking 
voice, “ No, oh, no. I have lived here twenty-seven years, and know 
every rock and tree and shrub, and love them all. I brought your 
mother here a bride and a slip of a girl like you, who are so much 
like her that sometimes when I see you flitting around and hear your 
voice I think for a moment she has come back to me again. You 
were both born here. Your mother died here, and here I want to die. 
But what is the use of prolonging the struggle? I have raked and 
scraped and saved in every possible way to pay the debt contracted so 
long ago, the interest of which has eaten up all my profits, and I have 
got within five hundred dollars of it, but do not see how I can get any 
further. I may sell a few apples and some hay, but Fll never borrow 
another dollar, and if this New York chap offers a good price we’d 
better sell. Dorcas and I can rent a few rooms somewhere in Boston, 
maybe, and we shall all be together till I die, which, please God, will 
not be very long.” 

His face was. white, with a tired, discouraged look upon it pitiful 
to see, while Dorcas, who cried easily, was sobbing aloud. But Bertha’s 
eyes were round and bright and dry, and there was a ring in her 
voice as she said, “ You will not die, and you will not sell the place. 
Horses and dogs and fox-hunts, indeed ! I’d like to see that New- 
Yorker plunging through the fields and farms with his horses and 
hounds, for that is what fox-hunting means. He would be mobbed in 
no time. Who is he, I wonder ? I should like to meet him and give 
him a piece of my mind.” 

She was getting excited, and her cheeks were scarlet as she kissed 
her father again and said, “Write and tell that New-Yorker to stay 
where he is, or take his foxes to some other farm. He cannot have 
ours, nor any one else. Micawber-like, I believe something will turn 
up. I am sure of it : only give me time.” 

Then, rising from her chair, she went swiftly out into the twilight, 
and, crossing the road, ran down the terrace to a bit of broken wall, 
where she sat down and watched the night gathering on the distant 
hills and over the woods, and fought the battle which more than one 
unselfish woman has fought, — a battle between inclination and what 
seemed to be duty. If she chose, she could save the farm with a word 
and make her father’s last days free from care. There was a hand- 


MRS. HAL LAM'S COMPANION. 


735 


some house in Boston of which she might be mistress any day, with 
plenty of money at her command to do with as she pleased. But the 
owner was old compared to herself, forty at least, and growing bald ; 
he called her Berthy, and was not at all like the ideal she had in her 
mind of the man whom she could love, — who was really more like one 
who might hunt foxes and ride his horses through the fields, while she 
rode by his side, than like the commonplace Mr. Sinclair, who had 
asked her twice to be his wife. At her last refusal only a few days 
ago he had said he should not give her up yet, but should write her 
father for his co-operation, and it was from him she feared the letter 
had come when she saw it in her father’s pocket. She knew he was 
honorable and upright and would be kind and generous to her and her 
family, but she had dreamed of a different love which might some 
time come to her, and she could not listen to his suit unless to save the 
old home for her father and Dorcas. 

For a time she sat weighing in the balance her love for them and 
her love for herself, while darkness deepened around her and the air 
grew heavy with the scent of the apple-blossoms and the grove of 
pine-trees not far away ; yet she was no nearer a decision than when 
she first sat down. It was strange that in the midst of her intense 
thinking the baying of hounds, the tramp of horses’ feet, and the 
shout of many voices should ring in her ears so distinctly that once, as 
some bushes stirred near her, she turned, half expecting to see the 
hunted fox fleeing for his life, and, with an impulse to save him from 
his pursuers, put out both her hands. 

“ This is a queer sort of hallucination, and it comes from that New 
York letter,” she thought, just as from under a cloud where it had 
been hidden the new moon sailed out to the right of her. Bertha was 
not superstitious, but, like many others, she clung to some of the tra- 
ditions of her childhood, and the new moon seen over the right shoulder 
was one of them. She always framed a wish when she saw it, and she 
did so now, involuntarily repeating the words she had so often used 
when a child : 

“New moon, new moon, listen to me, 

And grant the boon I ask of thee 

and then, almost as seriously as if it were a prayer, she wished that 
something might occur to keep the home for her father and herself 
from Mr. Sinclair. 

“ 1 don’t believe much in the new moon, it has cheated me so often ; 
but I do believe in presentiments, and I have one that something will 
turn up. I’ll wait awhile and see,” she said, as the silvery crescent was 
lost again under a cloud. Beginning to feel a little chilly, she went 
back to the house, where she found her father reading his evening 
paper. 

This reminded her of a New York Herald she had bought on the 
car of a little newsboy, whose ragged coat and pleasant face had decided 
her to refuse the chocolates offered her by a larger boy and take the paper 
instead. It was lying on the table, where she had put it when she first 
came in. Taking it up, she sat down and opened it. Glancing from 


736 


MRS. II ALL AM'S COMPANION. 


page to page, she finally reached the advertisements, and her eye fell 
upon that of Mrs. Hallam. 

“ Oh, father, Dorcas, I told you something would turn up, and there 
has ! Listen !” and she read the advertisement aloud. “ The very thing 
I most desired has come. I have always wanted to go to Europe, but 
never thought I could, on account of the expense, and here it is, 
all paid, and five hundred dollars besides. That will save the place. 
I did not wish the new moon for nothing. Something has turned up.” 

“ But, Bertha,” said the more practical Dorcas, “ what reason have 
you to think you will get the situation ? There are probably more 
than five hundred applicants for it, — one for each dollar.” 

“ I know I shall. I feel it as I have felt other things which have 
come to me. Theosophic presentiments I call them.” 

Dorcas went on : “ And if it does come, I don’t see how it will 
help the mortgage due in October. You will not get your pay in 
advance, and possibly not until the end of the year.” 

“ I shall borrow the money and give my note,” Bertha answered, 
promptly. “ Anybody will trust me. Swartz & Co. will, anyway, 
knowing that I shall come back and work it out if Mrs. Hallam fails 
me. By the way, that is the name of the people who lived here years 
ago. Perhaps Mrs. Carter belongs to the family. Do you know where 
they are, father ?” 

Mr. Leighton said he did not. He thought, however, they were 
all dead, while Dorcas asked, “ If you are willing to borrow money of 
Swartz & Co., why don’t you try Cousin Louie, and pay her in instal- 
ments ?” 

“ Cousin Louie !” Bertha repeated. “ That would be borrowing 
of her proud husband, Fred Thurston, who, since I have been a bread- 
winner, never sees me in the street if he can help it. I’d take in 
washing before I’d ask a favor of him. My heart is set upon Europe, 
if Mrs. Hallam will have me and you do not oppose me too strongly.” 

“ But I must oppose you,” her father said ; and then followed a 
long and earnest discussion between Mr. Leighton, Dorcas, and Bertha, 
the result of which was that Bertha was to wait a few days and con- 
sider the matter before writing to Mrs. Hallam. 

That night, however, after her father had retired, she dashed off a 
rough draught of what she meant to say and submitted it to Dorcas 
for approval. It was as follows : 

“Mrs. Hallam: 

“ Madam, — I have seen your advertisement for a companion, and 
shall be glad of the situation. My name is Bertha Leighton. I am 
twenty-two years old, and was graduated at the Charlestown Seminary 
three years ago. I am called a good reader, and ought to be a good 
accountant, as for two years I have been book-keeper in the firm of 
Swartz & Co., Boston. I am not very handy with my needle, for 
want of practice, but can soon learn. While in school I took lessons 
in French of a native teacher, who complimented my pronunciation 
and quickness to comprehend. Consequently I think I shall find no 
difficulty in understanding the language after a little and making 


MRS. HALL A M’S COMPANION. 737 

myself understood. I enclose my photograph, which flatters me some- 
what. My address is 

“ Bertha Leighton, 

“No. — Derring St., Boston, Mass.” 

“ I think it covers the whole business,” Bertha said to Dorcas, who 
objected to one point. “ The photograph does not flatter you,” she said, 
while Bertha insisted that it did, as it represented a much more stylish- 
looking young woman than Mrs. Carter Hallam’s companion ought to 
be. “ I wonder what sort of woman she is ? I somehow fancy she is 
a snob,” she said ; “ but, snob me all she pleases, she cannot keep me 
from seeing Europe, and I don’t believe she will try to cheat me out 
of my wages.” 


CHAPTER III. 

MRS. HALLAM’S APPLICANTS. 

Several days after Mrs. Hallam’s advertisement appeared in the 
papers, Reginald, who had been away on business, returned, and found 
his aunt in her room struggling frantically with piles of letters and 
photographs and with a very worried and excited look on her face. 

“ Oh, Rex,” she cried, as he came in, “ I am so glad you have come, 
for I am nearly wild. Only think ! seventy applicants, and as many 
photographs ! What possessed them to send their pictures ?” 

Rex kept his own counsel, but gave a low whistle as he glanced at 
the pile which filled the table. 

“ Got enough for an album, haven’t you ? How do they look as a 
whole?” he asked. 

“ I don’t know, and I don’t care. Such a time as I have had reading 
their letters, and such recommendations as most of them give of them- 
selves, telling me what reverses of fortune they have suffered, what 
church they belong to, and how long they have taught in Sunday-school, 
and all that, as if I cared. But I have decided which to choose ; her 
letter came this morning, with one other, — the last of the lot, I trust. I 
like her because she writes so plainly and sensibly and seems so truthful. 
She says she is not a good seamstress, and that her picture flatters her, 
while most of the others say their pictures are not good. Then she is 
so respectful, and simply addresses me as ‘ Madam,’ while all the others 
dear me. If there is anything I like, it is respect in a servant.” 

“Thunder, auntie! you don’t call your companion a servant, do 
you ?” Rex exclaimed, but his aunt only replied by passing him Bertha’s 
letter. “She writes well. How does she look?” he asked. 

“ Here she is.” And his aunt gave him the photograph of a short, 
sleepy-looking girl, with little or no expression in her face or eyes, and 
an unmistakable second-class air generally. 

“ Oh, horrors !” Rex exclaimed. “ This girl never wrote that letter. 
Why, she simpers and squints and is positively ugly. There must be 
some mistake, and you have mixed things dreadfully.” 

“ No, I haven’t,” Mrs. Hallam persisted. “ I was very careful to 
Vol. LIV.— 41 


738 


MRS. HALL AM'S COMPANION. 


keep the photographs and letters together as they came. This is Bertha 
Leighton’s, sure, and she says it flatters her.” 

“ What must the original be !” Rex groaned. 

His aunt continued, “ I’d rather she’d be plain than good-looking. 
I don’t want her attracting attention and looking in the glass half the 
time. Mrs. Haynes always said, ‘Get plain girls, by all means, in 
preference to pretty ones with airs and hangers-on.’ ” 

“ All right, if Mrs. Haynes says so,” Rex answered, with a shrug 
of his shoulders, as he put down the photograph of the girl he called 
Squint-Eye, and began carelessly to look at the others. 

“ Oh-h !” he said, catching up Bertha’s picture. “ This is something 
like it. By Jove, she’s a stunner. Why don’t you take her? What 
splendid eyes she has, and how she carries herself!” 

“Read her letter,” his aunt said, handing him a note in which, 
among other things, the writer, who gave her name as Rose Arabella 
Jefferson and claimed relationship with Thomas Jefferson, Joe Jefferson, 
and Jefferson Davis, said she was a member in good standing of the 
First Baptist Church, and spelled Baptist with two b’ s. There were 
also other mistakes in orthography, besides some in grammar, and Rex 
dropped it in disgust, but held fast to the photograph, whose piquant 
face, bright, laughing eyes, and graceful poise of head and shoulders 
attracted him greatly. 

“ Rose Arabella Jefferson,” he began, “ blood relation of Joe Jef- 
ferson, Thomas Jefferson, and Jefferson Davis, and member in good 
standing in the First Baptist Church, spelled with a b in the middle, 
you never wrote that letter, I know ; and if you did, your blue blood 
ought to atone for a few lapses in grammar and spelling. I am sure 
Mrs. Walker Haynes would think so. Take her, auntie, and run the 
risk. She is from the country, where you said your companion must 
hail from, while Squint- Eye is from Boston, with no ancestry, no re- 
ligion, and probably the embodiment of clubs and societies and leagues 
and women’s rights and Christian Science and the Lord knows what. 
Take Rose Arabella.” 

But Mrs. Hallam was firm. Rose Arabella was quite too good- 
looking, and Boston was country compared with New York. “ Squint- 
Eye” was her choice, provided her employers spoke well of her; and 
she asked Rex to write to Boston and make inquiries of Swartz & Co. 
concerning Miss Leighton. 

“Not if I know myself,” Rex answered. “I will do everything 
reasonable, but I draw the line on turning detective and prying into 
any girl’s character.” 

He was firm on this point, and Mrs. Hallam wrote herself to 
Swartz & Co., and then proceeded to tear up and burn the numerous 
letters and photographs filling her table. Rose Arabella Jefferson, 
however, was not among them, for she, with other pretty girls, some 
personal friends and some strangers, was adorning Rex’s looking-glass, 
where it was greatly admired by the housemaid as Mr. Reginald’s 
latest fancy. 

A few days later Mrs. Hallam said to Rex, “I have heard from 
Swartz & Co., and they speak in the highest terms of Miss Leighton. 


MRS HALL AM'S COMPANION. 


739 


I wish you would write for me and tell her I have decided to take 
her, and that she is to come to me on Friday, June — , as the Teutonic 
sails the next morning.” 

Reginald did as he was requested, thinking the while how much 
he would rather be writing to Rose Arabella, Babtist and all, than to 
Bertha Leighton. But there was no help for it : Bertha was his aunt’s 
choice, and was to be her companion instead of his, he reflected, as he 
directed the letter, which he posted on his way down town. The next 
day he started for the West on business for the law firm, promising his 
aunt that if possible he would return in time to see her off ; “ and 
then,” he added, “ I am going to Leicester to look after my fancy 
farm.” 


CHAPTER IV. 

MRS. FRED THURSTON. 

Bertha waited anxiously for an answer to her letter ; when it did 
not come she grew very nervous and restless and began to lose faith in 
the new moon and her theosophical presentiments, as she called her 
convictions of what was coming to pass. A feeling of dread began 
also to haunt her lest, after all, the man with the bald head, who called 
her Berthy, might be the only alternative to save the Homestead from 
the auctioneer’s hammer. But the letter came at last, and changed 
her whole future. There was an interview with her employers, who, 
having received Mrs. Hallam’s letter of inquiry, were not surprised. 
Although sorry to part with her, they readily agreed to advance what- 
ever money should be needed in October, without other security than 
her note, which she was to leave with her father. 

There was another interview with Mr. Sinclair, who at its close 
had a very sorry look on his face and a suspicion of suppressed tears 
in his voice as he said, “ It is hard to give you up, and I could have 
made you so happy, and your father, too. Good-by, and God bless 
you. Mrs. Thurston will be disappointed. Her heart was quite set 
upon having you for a neighbor, as you would be if you were my 
wife. Good-by.” 

The Mrs. Thurston alluded to was Bertha’s cousin Louie, from the 
South, who, four years before, had spent part of a summer at the 
Homestead. She had then gone to Newport, where she captured Fred 
Thurston, a Boston millionaire, who made love to her hotly for one 
month, married her the next, swore at her the next, and in a quiet but 
decided manner had tyrannized over and bullied her ever since. But 
he gave her all the money she wanted, and, as that was the principal 
thing for which she married him, she bore her lot bravely, became in 
time a butterfly of fashion, and laughed and danced and dressed and 
went to lunches and teas and receptions and dinners and balls, taking 
stimulants to keep her up before she went, and bromide, or chloral, or 
sulfonal, to make her sleep when she came home. But all this told 
upon her at last, and after four years of it she began to droop, with a 
consciousness that something was sapping her strength and stealing all 
her vitality. “ Nervous prostration,” the physician called it, recom- 


740 


MRS. HALL AM'S COMPANION . 


mending a change of air and scene, and, as a trip to Europe had long 
been contemplated by Mr. Thurston, he had finally decided upon a 
summer in Switzerland, and was to sail some time in July. Mrs. 
Thurston was very fond of her relatives at the Homestead, and especially 
of Bertha, who when she was first married was a pupil in Charlestown 
Seminary and spent nearly every Sunday with her. After a while, 
however, and for no reason whatever except that on one or two occa- 
sions he had shown his frightful temper before her, Mr. Thurston con- 
ceived a dislike for Bertha and forbade Louie’s inviting her so often to 
his house, saying he did not marry her poor relations. This put an 
end to any close intimacy between the cousins, and although Bertha 
called occasionally she seldom met Louie’s husband, who, after she 
entered the employment of Swartz & Co., rarely recognized her in the 
street. Bread-winners were far beneath his notice, and Bertha was a 
sore point between him and his wife, who loved her cousin with the 
devotion of a sister and often wrote begging her to come, if only for 
an hour. 

But Bertha was too proud to trespass where the master did not 
want her, and it was many weeks since they had met. She must go 
now and say good-by. After Mr. Sinclair left her she walked rapidly 
along Commonwealth Avenue to her cousin’s elegant house, which 
stood side by side with one equally handsome, of which she had just 
refused to be mistress. But she scarcely glanced at it, or, if she did, it 
was with no feeling of regret as she ran up the steps and rang the bell. 

Mrs. Thurston was at home and alone, the servant said, and Bertha, 
who went up unannounced, found her in her pleasant morning room, 
lying on a couch in the midst of a pile of cushions, with a very tired 
look upon her lovely face. 

“ Oh, Bertha,” she exclaimed, springing up with outstretched hands, 
as her cousin came in, “ I am so glad to see you ! Where have you 
kept yourself so long? and when are you coming to be my neighbor? 
I saw Mr. Sinclair last week, and he still had hopes.” 

Bertha replied by telling what the reader already knows and add- 
ing that she had come to say good-by, as she was to sail in two weeks. 

“ Oh, how could you refuse him, and he so kind and good, and so 
fond of you?” Louie said. 

Bertha, between whom and her cousin there were no domestic 
secrets, replied, “ Because I do not love him, and never can, good and 
kind as I know him to be. With your experience would you advise 
me to marry for money ?” 

Instantly a shadow came over Louie’s face, and she hesitated a 
little before she answered : 

“ Yes, and no ; all depends upon the man, and whether you loved 
some one else. If you knew he would swear at you and call you 
names and storm before the servants and throw things, — not at you, 
perhaps, but at the side of the house, — I should say no, decidedly ; 
but if he were kind and good and generous like Charlie Sinclair, I 
should say yes. I did so want you for my neighbor. Can’t you re- 
consider? Who is Mrs. Hallam,I wonder? I know some Hallams, 
or a Hallam, — Reginald. He lives in New York, and it seems to me 


MRS. HALL AM'S COMPANION. 


741 


liis aunt’s name is Mrs. Carter Hallam. Let me tell you about him. 
I feel like talking of the old life in Florida, which seems so long 
ago.” 

She was reclining again among the cushions, with one arm under 
her head, a far-away look in her eyes, and a tone in her voice as if she 
were talking to herself rather than to Bertha. 

“ You know my father lived in Florida,” she began, “ not far from 
Tallahassee, and your mother lived over the line in Georgia. Our 
place was called Magnolia Grove, and there were oleanders and yellow 
jasmine and Cherokee roses everywhere. This morning when I was 
so tired and felt that life was not worth the living, I fancied I was in 
my old home again, and I smelled the orange-blossoms and saw the 
magnolias which bordered the avenue to our house, fifty or more, in 
full bloom, and Bex and I were playing under them. His uncle’s 
plantation joined ours, and when his mother died in Boston he came 
to live with her brother at Grassy Spring. He was twelve and I was 
nine, and I had never played with any boy before except the negroes, 
and we were so fond of each other. He called me his little sweetheart, 
and said he was going to marry me when he was older. When he 
w r as fourteen, his uncle on his father’s side, a Mr. Hallam, from New 
York, sent for him, and he went away, promising to come back again 
when he was a man. We wrote to each other a few times, just boy 
and girl letters, you know. He called me Dear Louie and I called 
him Dear Rex, and then, I hardly know why, that chapter of my life 
closed, never to be reopened. Grandfather, who owned Magnolia Grove, 
lost nearly everything during the war, so that father, who took the 
place after him, was comparatively poor, and when he died we were 
poorer still, mother and I, and had to sell the plantation and move to 
Tallahassee, where we kept boarders, — people from the North, mostly, 
who came there for the winter. I was sixteen then, and I tried to help 
mother all I could. I dusted the rooms, and washed the glass and 
china, and did a lot of things I never thought Fd have to do. When 
I was eighteen Rex Hallam came to Jacksonville and ran over to see 
us. If he had been handsome as a boy of fourteen, he was still hand- 
somer as a man of twenty-one, with what in a woman would be called 
a sweet graciousness of manner which won all hearts to him; but as 
he is a man I will drop the sweet and say that he was kind alike to 
everybody, old and young, rich and poor, and had the peculiar gift of 
making every woman think she was especially pleasing to him; whether 
she were married or single, pretty or otherwise. He stopped with us 
a week, and because I was so proud and rebellious against our changed 
circumstances and so ashamed to have him find me dusting and wash- 
ing dishes, I was cold and stiff towards him, and our old relations 
were not altogether resumed, although he was very kind. Sometimes 
for fun he helped me dust, and once he wiped the dishes for me and 
broke a china teapot, and then he went away and I never saw him 
again till last summer, when I met him at Saratoga. Fred, who was 
with him in college, introduced us to each other, supposing we were 
strangers. You ought to have seen the look of surprise on Rex’s face 
when Fred said, ‘ This is my wife.’ 


742 


MRS. HAL LAM\S COMPANION. 


“‘Why, Louie/ he exclaimed, ‘I don’t need an introduction to 
you / then to my husband, ‘ We are old friends, Louie and I / and 
we told him of our early acquaintance. 

“ For a wonder, Fred did not seem a bit jealous of him, although 
savage if another man looked at me. Nor had he any cause, for Rex’s 
manner was just like a brother’s, but oh, such a brother! and I was so 
happy the two weeks he was there. We drove and rode and danced 
and talked together, and never but once did he refer to the past. Then, 
in his deep musical voice, the most musical I ever heard in a man, he 
said, ‘ I thought you were going to wait for me,’ and I answered, ‘ I 
did wait, and you never came.’ 

“ That was all ; but the night before he went away he was in our 
room and asked for my photograph, which was lying upon the table. 
He had quite a collection, he said, and would like to add mine to it, 
and I gave it to him. Fred knew it and w r as willing, but since then, 
when he is in one of his moods, he taunts me with it, and says he knew 
I was in love with Rex all the time, — that he saw it in my face, and 
that Rex saw it, too, and despised me for it while pretending to admire 
me, and because he knew Rex despised me and he could trust him, he 
allowed me full liberty just to see how far I would go and not com- 
promise myself. I do not believe it of Rex : he never despised any 
woman ; but it is hard to hear such things, and sometimes when Fred 
is worse than usual and I have borne all I can bear, I go away and 
cry, with an intense longing for something different, which might per- 
haps have come to me if I had waited, and I hear Rex’s boyish voice 
just as it sounded under the magnolias in Florida, where we played 
together and pelted each other with the white petals strewing the 
ground. 

“ I am not false to Fred in telling this to you, who know about my 
domestic life, which, after all, has some sunshine in it. Fred is not 
always cross. Every one has a good and a bad side, a Jekyll and 
Hyde, you know, and if Fred has more Hyde than Jekyll, it is not 
his fault, perhaps. I try him in many ways. He says I am a fool, 
and that I only care for his money, and if he gives me all I want I 
ought to be satisfied. Just now he is very good, — so good, in fact, 
that I wonder if he isn’t going to die. I believe he thinks I am, 
I am so weak and tired. I have not told you, have I, that we too are 
going to Europe before long ? Switzerland is our objective point, but 
if I can I will persuade Fred to go to Aix, where you will be. That 
will be jolly. I wonder if your Mrs. Hallam can be Rex’s aunt.” 

“Did you ever see her?” Bertha asked, and Louie replied, “Only 
in the distance. She was in Saratoga with him, but at another hotel. 
I heard she was a very swell woman, with piles of money, and that 
when young she had made shoes and worked in a factory or some- 
thing.” 

“ How shocking !” Bertha said, laughingly, and Louie rejoined, 
“Don’t be sarcastic. You know I don’t care what she used to do. 
Why should I, when I have dusted and washed dishes myself, and 
waited on a lot of Northern boarders, with my proud Southern blood 
in hot rebellion against it? If Mrs. Hallam made shoes or cloth, 


MRS. HALL AM'S COMPANION. 


743 


what does it matter, so long as she is rich now and in the best society ? 
She is no blood relation to Rex, who is a gentleman by birth and 
nature both. I hope Mrs. Carter is his aunt, for then you will see 
him; and if you do, tell him I am your cousin, but not how wretched 
I am. He saw a little in Saratoga, but not much, for Fred was very 
guarded. Hark ! I believe I hear him coming.” 

There was a bright flush on her cheeks as she started up and began 
to smooth the folds of her dress and to arrange her hair. 

“ Fred does not like to see me tumbled,” she said, just as the por- 
tiere was drawn aside and her husband entered the room. 

He was a tall and rather fine-looking man of thirty, with large, 
fierce black eyes and an expression on his face and about his mouth 
indicative of an indomitable will and a temper hard to meet. He had 
come in, he said, to take Louie for a drive, as the day was fine and the 
air would do her good ; and he was so gracious to Bertha that she felt 
sure the Jekyll mood was in the ascendant. He asked her if she was 
still with Swartz & Co., and listened with some interest while Louie 
told him of her engagement with Mrs. Carter Hallam, and when she 
asked if that lady was Rex’s aunt he replied that she was, adding that 
Rex’s uncle had adopted him as a son and had left a large fortune. 

Then, turning to Bertha, he said, “ I congratulate you on your 
prospective acquaintance with Rex Hallam. He is very susceptible 
to female charms, and quite indiscriminate in his attentions. Every 
woman, old or young, is apt to think he is in love with her.” 

He spoke sarcastically, with a meaning look at his wife, whose face 
was scarlet. Bertha was angry, and, with a proud inclination of her 
head, said to him, “ It is not likely that I shall see much of Mr. Regi- 
nald Hallam. Why should I, when I am only his aunt’s hired com- 
panion, and have few charms to attract him ?” 

“ I am not so sure of that,” Fred said, struck as he had never been 
before with Bertha’s beauty, as she stood confronting him. 

She was a magnificent-looking girl, who, given a chance, would 
throw Louie quite in the shade, he thought, and under the fascination 
of her beauty he became more gracious than ever, and asked her to 
drive with them and return to lunch. 

“ Oh, do,” Louie said. “ It is ages since you were here.” 

But Bertha declined, as she had shopping to do, and in the after- 
noon was going home to stay until it was time to report herself to Mrs. 
Hallam. Then, bidding them good-by, she left the house and walked 
rapidly down the avenue. 


CHAPTER V. 

THE COMPANION. 

Bertha kept up very bravely when she said good-by to her father 
and Dorcas and started alone for New York ; but there was a horrid 
sense of loneliness and homesickness in her heart when at about six 
in the afternoon she rang the bell of No. — Fifth Avenue, looking 
in her sailor hat and tailor-made gown and Eton jacket of dark blue 


744 


MRS. HALL AM'S COMPANION. 


serge more like the daughter of the house than like a hired companion. 
Peters, the colored man who opened the door, mistook her for an 
acquaintance, and was very deferential in his manner, while he waited 
for her card. By mistake her cards were in her trunk, and she said to 
him, “ Tell Mrs. Hallam that Miss Leighton is here. She is expecting 
me.” 

Mrs. Hallam’s servants usually managed to know the most of their 
mistress’s business, for, although she professed to keep them at a dis- 
tance, she was at times quite confidential, and they all knew that a 
Miss Leighton was to accompany her abroad as a companion. So 
when Peters heard the name he changed his intention to usher her into 
the reception-room, and, seating her in the hall, went for a maid, who 
took her to a room on the fourth floor back and told her that Mrs. 
Hallam had just gone in to dinner with some friends and would not 
be at liberty to see her for two or three hours. 

“ But she is expecting you,” she said, “ and has given orders that 
you can have your dinner served here, or, if you choose, you can dine 
with Mrs. Flagg, the housekeeper, in her room in the front basement. 
I should go there, if I were you. You’ll find it pleasanter and cooler 
than up here under the roof.” 

Bertha preferred the housekeeper’s room, to which she was taken 
by the maid. Mrs. Flagg was a kind-hearted, friendly woman, who, 
with the quick instincts of her class, recognized Bertha as a lady 
and treated her accordingly. She had lived with the Hallams many 
years, and, with a natural pride in the family, talked a good deal 
of her mistress’s wealth and position, but more of Mr. Reginald, who 
had a pleasant word for everybody, high or low, rich or poor. 

“ Mrs. Hallam is not exactly that way,” she said, “and sometimes 
snubs folks beneath her ; but I’ve heard Mr. Reginald tell her that 
civil words don’t cost anything, and the higher up you are and the 
surer of yourself the better you can afford to be polite to every one; 
that a gold piece is none the less gold because there is a lot of copper 
pennies in the purse with it, nor a real lady any the less a lady because 
she is kind of chummy with her inferiors. He’s great on compari- 
sons.” 

As Bertha made no comment, she continued, “ He’s Mrs. Hallam’s 
nephew, or rather her husband’s, but the same as her son adding 
that she was sorry he was not at home, as she’d like Miss Leighton to 
see him. 

When dinner was over she offered to take Bertha back to her room, 
and as they passed an open door on the third floor she stopped a 
moment and said, “This is Mr. Reginald’s room. Would you like to 
go in?” 

Bertha did not care particularly about it, but, as Mrs. Flagg stepped 
inside, she followed her. Just then some one from the hall called to 
Mrs. Flagg, and, excusing herself for a moment, she went out, leaving 
Bertha alone. It was a luxuriously furnished apartment, with signs 
of masculine ownership everywhere, but what attracted Bertha most 
was a large mirror which in a Florentine frame covered the entire 
chimney above the mantel and was ornamented with photographs on 


MRS. HALL AM’S COMPANION. 


745 


all its four sides. There were photographs of personal friends and 
prominent artists, authors, actors, opera-singers, and ballet-dancers, with 
a few of horses and dogs, divided into groups, with a blank space 
between. Bertha had no difficulty in deciding which were his friends, 
for there confronting her, with her sunny smile and laughing blue eyes, 
was Louie’s picture given to him at Saratoga, and placed by the side of 
a sweet-faced, refined-looking woman wearing a rather old-style dress, 
who, Bertha fancied, might be his mother. 

“ How lovely Louie is,” she thought, “ and what a different life 
hers would have been had her friendship for Reginald Hallam ripened 
into love, as it ought to have done !” Then, casting her eyes upon 
another group, she started violently as she saw herself tucked in 
between a rope-walker and a ballet-dancer. “ What does it mean ? and 
how did my picture get here?” she exclaimed, taking it from the frame 
and wondering still more when she read upon it, “ Rose Arabella 
Jefferson, Scotsburg.” 

“ Rose Arabella Jefferson !” she repeated. “ Who is she? and how 
came her name on my picture ? and how came my picture in Rex Hal- 
lam’s possession ?” Then, remembering that she had sent it by request 
to Mrs. Hallam, she guessed how Rex came by it, and felt a little 
thrill of pride that he had liked it well enough to give it a place in his 
collection, even if it were in company with ballet-girls. “ But it shall 
not stay there,” she thought. “ I’ll put it next to Louie’s, and let him 
wonder who changed it, if he ever notices the change.” 

Mrs. Flagg was coming, and, hastily putting the photograph be- 
tween Louie’s and that of a woman who she afterwards found was 
Mrs. Carter Hallam, she went out to meet the housekeeper, whom she 
followed to her room. 

“ You will not be afraid, as the servants all sleep up here. We 
have six besides the coachman,” Mrs. Flagg said as she bade her good- 
night. 

“Six servants besides the coachman and housekeeper! I make 
the ninth, for I dare say I am little more than that in my lady’s esti- 
mation,” Bertha thought, as she sat alone, watching the minute-hand 
of the clock creeping slowly round, and wondering when the grand 
dinner would be over and Mrs. Hallam ready to receive her. Then, 
lest the lump in her throat should get the mastery, she began to walk 
up and down her rather small quarters, to look out of the window 
upon the roofs of the houses, and to count the chimneys and spires in 
the distance. 

It was very different from the lookout at home, with its long stretch 
of wooded hills, its green fields and meadows and grassy lane. Her 
tears were threatening every moment to start, when a maid appeared 
and said her mistress was at liberty to see her. With a beating heart 
and heightened color, Bertha followed her to the boudoir, where in 
amber satin and diamonds Mrs. Hallam was waiting, herself somewhat 
flurried and nervous and doubtful how to conduct herself during the 
interview. She was always a little uncertain how to maintain a dignity 
worthy of Mrs. Carter Hallam under all circumstances, for, although 
she had been in society so long and had seen herself quoted and her 


740 


MRS. II ALL A M’S COMPANION. 


dinners and receptions described so often, she was not yet quite sure of 
herself, nor had she learned the truth of Rex’s theory that gold was 
not the less gold because in the same purse with pennies. She had 
never forgotten the shoe- shop and the barefoot girl picking berries, 
with all the other humble surroundings of her childhood, and because 
she had not she felt it incumbent upon her to try to prove that she was 
and always had been what she seemed to be, a leader of fashion, with 
millions at her command. To compass this she assumed an air of 
haughty superiority towards those whom she thought her inferiors. 
She had never had a hired companion, and in the absence of her mentor, 
Mrs. Walker Haynes, she did not know exactly how to treat one. 
Had she asked Rex, he would have said, “ Treat her as you would any 
other young lady.” But Rex held some very ultra views, and was not 
to be trusted implicitly. Fortunately, however, a guest at dinner had 
helped her greatly by recounting her own experience with a companion 
who was always getting out of her place, and who finally ran off with 
a French count at Trouville, where they were spending the summer. 

“ I began wrong,” the lady said. “ I was too familiar at first, and 
made too much of her because she was educated and superior to her 
class.” 

Acting upon this intimation, Mrs. Hallam decided to commence 
right. Remembering the picture which Rex called Squint-Eye, she 
had no fear that the original would ever run olf with a French count, 
but she might have to be put down, and she would begin by sitting 
down to receive her. “ Standing will make her too much my equal,” 
she thought, and, adjusting the folds of her satin gown and assuming 
an expression which she meant to be very cold and distant, she glanced 
up carelessly, but still a little nervously, as she heard the sound of 
footsteps and knew there was some one at the door. She was expect- 
ing a very ordinary-looking person, with wide mouth, half-closed eyes, 
and light hair, and when she saw a tall, graceful girl, with dark hair 
and eyes, brilliant color, and an air decidedly patrician, as Mrs. Walker 
Haynes would say, she was startled out of her dignity, and involun- 
tarily rose to her feet and half extended her hand. Then, remember- 
ing herself, she dropped it, and said, stammeringly, “ Oh, are you Miss 
Leighton ?” 

“ Yes, madam. You were expecting me, were you not?” Bertha 
answered, her voice clear and steady, with no sound of timidity or 
awe in it. 

“ Why, yes ; that is — sit down, please. There is some mistake,” 
Mrs. Hallam faltered. “ You are not like your photograph, or the 
one I took for you. They must have gotten mixed, as Rex said they 
did. He insisted that your letter did not belong to what I said was 
your photograph and which he called Squint-Eye.” 

Here it occurred to Mrs. Hallam that she was not commencing 
right at all, — that she was quite too communicative to a girl who looked 
fully equal to running off with a duke, if she chose, and who must be 
kept down. But she explained about the letters and the photographs 
until Bertha had a tolerably correct idea of the mistake and laughed 
heartily over it. It was a very merry, musical laugh, in which Mrs. 


MRS. HAL LAM ’S COMPANION. 


747 


Hallam joined for a moment. Then, resuming her haughty manner, 
she plied Bertha with questions, saying to her first, “ Your home is in 
Boston, I believe.” 

“ Oh, no,” Bertha replied. “ My home is in Leicester, where I was 
born.” 

“ In Leicester !” Mrs. Hallam replied, her voice indicative of sur- 
prise and disapprobation. “ You wrote me from Boston. Why did 
you do that ?” 

Bertha explained why, and Mrs. Hallam asked next if she lived in 
the village or the country. 

“ In the country, on a farm,” Bertha answered, wondering at Mrs. 
Hallam’s evident annoyance at finding that she came from Leicester 
instead of Boston. 

It had not before occurred to her to connect the Homestead with 
Mrs. Carter Hallam, but it came to her now, and at a venture she 
said, “ Our place is called the Hallam Homestead, named for a family 
who lived there many years ago.” 

She was looking curiously at Mrs. Hallam, whose face was crim- 
son at first and then grew pale, but who for a moment made no reply. 
Here was a complication, — Leicester, and perhaps the old life, brought 
home to her by the original of the picture so much admired by Rex, who 
had it in mind to buy the old homestead, and was sure to admire the girl 
when he saw her, as he would, for he was coming to Aix-les-Bains 
some time during the summer. If Mrs. Hallam could have found an 
excuse for it, she would have dismissed Bertha at once. But there was 
none. She was there, and she must keep her, and perhaps it might 
be well to be frank with her to a certain extent. So she said at last, 
" My husband’s family once lived in Leicester, — presumably on your 
father’s farm. That was years ago, before I was married. My nephew, 
Mr. Reginald” (she laid much stress on the Mr., as if to impress 
Bertha with the distance there was between them), “ has, I believe, 
some quixotic notion about buying the old place. Is it for sale?” 

The fire which flashed into Bertha’s eyes and the hot color which 
stained her cheeks startled Mrs. Hallam, who was not prepared for 
Bertha’s excitement as she replied, “For sale! Never! There is a 
mortgage of long standing on it, but it will be paid in the fall. I am 
going with you to earn the money to pay it. Nothing else would take 
me from father and Dorcas so long. We heard there was a New York 
man wishing to buy it, but he may as well think of buying the Coli- 
seum as our home. Tell him so, please, for me. Hallam Homestead 
is not for sale.” 

As she talked, Bertha grew each moment more earnest and excited 
and beautiful, with the tears shining in her eyes aud the bright color on 
her cheeks. Mrs. Hallam was not a hard woman, nor a bad woman ; 
she was simply calloused over with false ideas of caste and position, 
which prompted her to restrain her real nature whenever it asserted 
itself, as it was doing now. Something about Bertha fascinated and 
interested her, bringing back the long ago, with the odor of the pines, 
the perfume of the pond-lilies, and the early days of her married life. 
But this feeling soon passed. Habit is everything, and she had been 


748 


MRS. HALL A M'S COMPANION. 


the fashionable Mrs. Carter Hallam so long that it would take more 
than a memory of the past to change her. She must maintain her 
dignity, and not give way to sentiment, and she was soon herself, 
cold and distant, with her chin in the air, where she usually car- 
ried it when talking to those whom she wished to impress with her 
superiority. 

For some time longer she talked to Bertha, plying her with ques- 
tions and learning as much of her history as Bertha chose to tell. 
Her mother was born in Georgia, she said ; her father in Boston. He 
was a Yale graduate, and fonder of books than of farming. They 
were poor, keeping no servants; Dorcas, her only sister, kept the 
house, while she did what she could to help pay expenses and lessen 
the mortgage on the farm. All this Bertha told readily enough, with 
no thought of shame for her poverty. She saw that Mrs. Hallam was 
impressed with the Southern mother and scholarly father, and once 
she thought to speak of her cousin, Mrs. Louie, but did not, and here 
she possibly made a mistake, for Mrs. Hallam had a great respect for 
family connections, as that was what she lacked. She had heard of 
Mrs. Fred Thurston, as had every frequenter of Saratoga and New- 
port, and once at the former place she had seen her driving in her hus- 
band’s stylish turnout with Reginald at her side. He was very atten- 
tive to the beauty whom he had known at the South, and Mrs. Hallam 
had once or twice intimated to him that she too would like to meet her, 
but he had not acted upon the hint, and she had left Saratoga without 
accomplishing her object. Had Bertha told of the relationship between 
herself and Louie it might have made some difference in her relations 
with her employer. But she did not, and after a little further cate- 
chising Mrs. Hallam dismissed her, saying, “As the ship sails at 
nine, it will be necessary to rise very early : so I will bid you good- 
night.” 

The next morning Bertha breakfasted with Mrs. Flagg, who told 
her that, as a friend was to accompany Mrs. Hallam in her coup6 to the 
ship, she was to go in a street-car, with a maid to show her the way. 

“Evidently I am a hired servant and nothing more,” Bertha 
thought; “ but I can endure even that for the sake of Europe and five 
hundred dollars.” And, bidding good-by to Mrs. Flagg, she was soon 
on her way to the Teutonic. 


CHAPTER VI. 

ON THE TEUTONIC. 

Bertha found Mrs. Hallam in her state-room, which was one of 
the largest and most expensive on the ship. With her were three or 
four ladies who were there to say good-by, all talking together and 
offering advice in case of sickness, while Mrs. Hallam fanned herself 
vigorously, as the morning was very hot. 

“Are you not taking a maid?” one of the ladies asked, and Mrs. 
Hallam replied that Mrs. Haynes advised her to get one in Paris, add- 
ing, “ I have a young girl as companion, and I’m sure I don’t know 


MRS. HAL LAM'S COMPANION. 


749 


where she is. She ought to be here by this time. I dare say she will 
be more trouble than good. She seems quite the fine lady. I hardly 
know what I am to do with her.” 

“ Keep her in her place,” was the prompt advice of a little, com- 
mon-looking woman, who was once a nursery governess, but was now 
a millionaire, and perfectly competent to advise as to the proper treat- 
ment of a companion. 

Just then Bertha appeared, and was stared at by the ladies, who 
took no further notice of her. 

“ I am glad you’ve got here at last. What kept you so long ?” 
Mrs. Hallam asked, a little petulantly, while Bertha replied that she 
had been detained by a block in the street-cars, and asked if there was 
anything she could do. 

“ Yes,” Mrs. Hallam answered. “ I wish you would open my sea 
trunk and satchel and get out my wrapper and shawl and cushion and 
toilet articles and salts and camphor. I am sure to be sick the minute 
we get out to sea.” And, handing her keys to Bertha, she went with 
her friends outside, where the crowd was increasing every moment. 

The passenger-list was full, and every passenger had at least half 
a dozen acquaintances to see him off, so that by the time Bertha had 
arranged Mrs. Hallam’s belongings and gone out *on deck there was 
hardly standing-room. Finding a seat near the purser’s office, she sat 
down and watched the surging mass of human beings, jostling, pushing, 
crowding each other, the confusion reaching its climax when the order 
came for the ship to be cleared of all visitors. Then for a time they 
stood so thickly around her that she could see nothing and hear nothing 
but a confused babel of voices, until suddenly there was a break in 
the ranks, and a tall young man, who had been fighting his way to the 
plank, pitched headlong against her with such force that she fell from 
the seat, losing her hat in the fall and striking her forehead on a sharp 
point near her. 

“ I beg your pardon ; are you much hurt ? I am so sorry, but I 
could not help it, they pushed me so in this infernal crowd. Let me 
help you up,” a pleasant, manly voice, full of concern, said to her, 
while two strong hands lifted her to her feet and on to the seat where 
she had been sitting. “ You are safe here, unless some other blunder- 
head knocks you down again,” the young man continued, as he man- 
aged to pick up her hat. “Some wretch has stepped on it, but I think 
I can doctor it into shape,” he said, giving it a twist or two and then 
putting it very carefully on Bertha’s head hind side before. “There! 
It is all right, I think, though, upon my soul, it does seem a little 
askew,” he added, looking for the first time fully at Bertha, who was 
holding her hand to her forehead, where a big bump was beginning to 
show. 

Her hand hid a portion of her face, but she smiled brightly and 
gratefully upon the stranger, whose manner was so friendly and whose 
brown eyes seen through his glasses looked so kindly at her. 

“ By Jove, you are hurt,” he continued, “ and I did \t. I can’t 
help you, as I’ve got to go, but my aunt is on board, — Mrs. Carter 
Hallam ; find her, and tell her that her awkward nephew came near 


750 


MRS. II ALL AM ’S COMPANION. 


knocking your brains out. She has every kind of drug and lotion 
imaginable, from sulfonal to Pond’s extract, and is sure to find some- 
thing for that bump. And now I must go, or be carried off.” 

He gave another twist to her hat and offered her his hand, and 
then ran down the plank to the wharf, where, with hundreds of others, 
he stood, waving his hat and cane to his friends on the ship, which 
began to move slowly from the dock. He was so tall that Bertha 
could see him distinctly, and she stood watching him, and him alone, 
until he was a speck in the distance. Then, with a strange feeling of 
loneliness, she started for her state-room, where Mrs. Hallam, who had 
preceded her, was looking rather cross and doing her best to be sick, 
although as yet there was scarcely any motion to the vessel. 

Reginald, whose train was late, had hurried at once to the ship, 
which he reached in time to see his aunt for a few moments only. Her 
last friend had said good-by, and she was feeling very forlorn, and 
wondering where Bertha could be, when he came rushing up, bringing 
so much life and sunshine and magnetism with him that Mrs. Hallam 
began to feel doubly forlorn as she wondered what she should do with- 
out him. 

“ Oh, Rex,” she said, laying her head on his arm and beginning to 
cry a little, “ I am # so glad you have come, and I wish you were going 
with me. I fear I have made a mistake starting off alone. I don’t 
know at all how to take care of myself.” 

Rex smoothed her hair, patted her hand, soothed her as well as he 
could, and told her he was sure she would get on well enough and that 
he would certainly join her in August. 

“ Where is Miss Leighton ? Hasn’t she put in an appearance ?” he 
asked, and his aunt replied, with a little asperity of manner, “ Yes ; she 
came last night.” 

“ Doesn’t she fill the bill ?” Rex said, and his aunt replied, “ She 
seems a high and mighty sort of damsel. I am disappointed, and 
afraid I shall have trouble with her.” 

“Sit down on her if she gets too high and mighty,” Rex said, 
laughingly, while his aunt was debating the propriety of telling him 
of the mistake and who Bertha was. 

“ I don’t believe I will. He will find it out soon enough,” she 
thought, just as the last warning to leave the boat was given, and with 
a hurried good-by Rex left her, saying, as he did so, “ I’ll look a bit 
among the crowd, and if I find your squint-eyed damsel I’ll send her 
to you. I shall know her in a minute.” Here was a good chance to 
explain, but Mrs. Hallam let it pass, and Rex went his way, searching 
here and there for a light-haired, weak-eyed woman answering to her 
photograph. 

But he did not find her, and ran instead against Bertha, with no 
suspicion that she was the girl he had told his aunt to sit on, and for 
whom that lady waited rather impatiently after the ship was cleared. 

“ Oh !” she said, as Bertha came in. “I have been waiting for you 
some time. Did you have friends to say good-by to ? Give me my 
salts, please, and camphor, and fan, and a pillow, and close that shutter. 
I don’t want the herd looking in upon me; nor do I think this room 


MRS. HALL AM'S COMPANION. 


751 


so very desirable, with all the people passing and repassing. I told 
Rex so, and he said nobody wanted to see me in my night-cap. He 
was here to say good-by. His train got in just in time.” 

Bertha closed the shutters and brought a pillow and fan and the 
camphor and salts, and then bathed the bruise on her forehead, which 
was increasing in size and finally attracted Mrs. Hallam’s attention. 

“ Are you hurt?” she asked, and Bertha replied, “ I was knocked 
down in the crowd by a young man who told me he had an aunt, a 
Mrs. Hal lam, on board. I suppose he must have been your nephew.” 

“Did you tell him who you were?” Mrs. Hallam asked, with a 
shake of her head and disapproval in her voice. 

“ No, madam,” Bertha replied. “ He was trying to apologize for 
what he had done, and spoke to me of you as one to whom I could go 
for help if I was badly hurt.” 

“ Yes, that is like Reginald, — thinking of everything,” Mrs. Hal- 
lam said. After a moment she added, “ He has lived with me since he 
was a boy, and is the same as a son. He will join me in Aix-les- Bains 
in August. Miss Grace Haynes is there, and I don’t mind telling 
you, as you will probably see for yourself, that I think there is a 
sort of understanding between him and her. Nothing would please me 
better.” 

“ There ! I have headed off any idea she might possibly have with 
regard to Rex, who is so democratic and was so struck with her photo- 
graph, while she — well, there is something in her eyes and the lofty 
way she carries her head and shoulders that I don’t like; it looks too 
much like equality, and I am afraid I may have to sit on her, as Rex 
bade me do,” was Mrs. Hallam’s mental comment, as she adjusted her- 
self upon her couch and issued her numerous orders. 

For three days she stayed in her state-room, not because she was 
actually sea-sick, but because she feared she would be. To lie perfectly 
quiet in her berth until she was accustomed to the motion of the vessel 
was the advice given her by one of her friends, and as far as possible 
she followed it, while Bertha was kept in constant attendance, reading 
to her, brushing her hair, bathing her head, opening and shutting the 
windows, and taking messages to those of her acquaintances able to 
be on deck. The sea was rather rough for June, but Bertha was not 
at all affected by it, and the only inconvenience she suffered was want 
of sufficient exercise and fresh air. Early in the morning, while Mrs. 
Hallam slept, she was free to go on deck, and again late in the evening, 
after the lady had retired for the night. These walks, with going to 
her meals, were the only recreation or change she had, and she was 
beginning to droop a little, when at last Mrs. Hallam declared herself 
able to go upon deck, where, by the aid of means which seldom fail, 
she managed to gain possession of the sunniest and most sheltered 
spot, which she held in spite of the protestations of another party who 
claimed the place on the ground of first occupancy. She was Mrs. 
Carter Hallam, and she kept the field until a vacancy occurred in 
the vicinity of some people whom to know, if possible, was desirable. 
Then she moved, and had her reward in being told by one of the mag- 
nates that it was a fine day and the ship was making good time. 


752 


MRS. HALL A M'S COMPANION. 


Every morning Bertha brought her rugs and wraps and cushions 
and umbrella, and after seeing her comfortably adjusted sat down at a 
respectful distance and waited for orders, which were far more frequent 
than was necessary. No one spoke to her, although many curious and 
admiring glances were cast at the bright, handsome girl, who seemed 
quite as much a lady as her mistress, but who was performing the duties 
of a maid and was put down upon the passenger-list as Mrs. Hal lam’s 
companion. As it chanced, there was a royal personage on board, and 
one day when standing near Bertha, who was watching a steamer just 
appearing upon the horizon, he addressed some remark to her, and 
then, attracted by something in her face, or manner, or both, continued 
to talk with her, until Mrs. Hallam’s peremptory voice called out, 
“ Bertha, I want you. Don’t you see my rug is falling off?” 

There was a questioning glance at the girl thus bidden and at the 
woman who bade her, and then, lifting his hat politely to the former, 
the stranger walked away, while Bertha went to Mrs. Hallam, who said 
to her sharply, “ I wonder at your presumption ; but possibly you didn’t 
know to whom you were talking.” 

“ Oh, yes, I did,” Bertha replied. “ It was the prince. He speaks 
English fluently, and I found him very agreeable.” 

She was apparently as unconcerned as if it had been the habit of her 
life to consort with royalty, and Mrs. Hallam looked at her wonderingly, 
conscious in her narrow soul of an increased feeling of respect for the 
girl whom a prince had honored with his notice and who took it so 
coolly and naturally. But she did not abate her requirements or ex- 
actions in the least. On the contrary, it seemed as if she increased them, 
if possible, in order to keep her at her side and away from the people. 
But Bertha bore it all patiently, performing every task imposed upon 
her as if it were a pleasure, and never giving any sign of fatigue, 
although in reality she was never so tired in her life as when at last 
they sailed up the Mersey and into the docks at Liverpool. 

At Queenstown she had sent off a letter to Dorcas, in which, after 
speaking of her arrival in New York and the voyage in general, she 
wrote, “ I hardly know what to say of Mrs. Hallam until I have seen 
more of her. Just now she keeps me too busy to know how I like 
anything. She is a great lady, and great ladies need a great deal of 
waiting upon, and the greater they are the greater the need. There 
must be something Shylocky in her nature, and, as she gives me a big 
salary, she means to have her pound of flesh. I am down on the 
passenger-list as her companion, but it should be maid, as I am really 
that. But when we reach Paris there will be a change, as she is to 
have a French maid there. It will surprise you, as it did me, to know 
that she belongs to the Hallams for whom the Homestead was named 
and who father thought were all dead. Her husband was born there. 
Where she came from I do not know. She is very reticent on that 
point. I shouldn’t be surprised if she once worked in a factory, she is 
so particular to have her position recognized. Such a scramble as she 
had to get to the captain’s table ; though what good that does I can- 
not guess, inasmuch as he is seldom there himself. I am at Nobody’s 
table, and like it, because I am a nobody. 


MRS. 1IAL LAM'S COMPANION. 


753 


“ Do you remember the letter father had, saying that some New- 
Yorker wanted to buy our farm and was coming to look at it? That 
New-Yorker is Cousin Louie’s Reginald Hallam, of whom I told you, 
and Mrs. Carter’s nephew ; not in the least like her, I fancy, although 
I have only had the pleasure of being knocked down by him on the 
ship. But he was not to blame. The crowd pushed him against me 
with such force that I fell off the seat and nearly broke my head. My . 
hat was crushed out of all shape, and he made it worse trying to twist 
it back. He was kindness itself, and his brown eyes full of concern as 
they looked at me through the clearest pair of rimless glasses I ever 
saw. He did not know who I was, of course, but I am sure he would 
have been just as kind if he had. I can understand Louie’s infatuation 
for him, and why his aunt adores him. 

“ But what nonsense to be writing with Queenstown in sight, and 
this letter must be finished to send off. I am half ashamed of what I 
have said of Mrs. Hallam, who, when she forgets what a grand lady 
she is, can be very nice, and I really think she likes me a little. 

“ And now I must close, with more love for you and father than 
can be carried in a hundred letters. Will write again from Paris. 
Good-by, good-by. 

“ Bertha. 

“ P.S. I told you that if a New-Yorker came to buy the farm 
you were to shut the door in his face. But you may as well let him 
in.” 


CHAPTER VII. 

REGINALD AND PHINEAS JONES. 

After bidding his aunt good-by, Reginald went home for a few 
moments, and then to his office, where he met for the first time Mr. 
Gorham, the owner of the Leighton mortgage, and learned that the 
place was really where his father used to live and that the Homestead 
was named for the Hallams. This increased his desire to own it, and, 
as there was still time to catch the next train for Boston, he started for 
the d6pot and was soon on his way to Worcester, where he arrived 
about four in the afternoon. Wishing to make some inquiries as to the 
best means of reaching Leicester, he went to a hotel, where he found 
no one in the office besides the clerk except a tall, spare man, with long 
light hair tinged with gray, and shrewdness and curiosity written all 
over his good-humored face. He wore a linen duster, with no collar, 
and only an apology for a handkerchief twisted around his neck. 
Tipping back in one chair, with his feet in another, he was taking 
frequent and mostly unsuccessful aims at a cuspidor about six feet from 
him. 

“ Good- afternoon,” he said, taking his feet from the chair for a mo- 
ment, but soon putting them back, as he asked if Reginald had just 
come from the train, and whether from the east or the west. Then he 
told him it was an all-fired hot day, that it looked like thunder in the 
Vol. LIV.— 48 


754 


MRS. HALL AM’S COMPANION. 


west, and lie shouldn’t wonder if they got a heavy shower before 
night. 

To all this Reginald assented, and then went to the desk to register, 
while the stranger, on pretence of looking at something in the street, 
also arose and sauntered to the door, managing to glance at the register 
and see the name just written there. 

Resuming his seat and inviting Rex to take a chair near him, he 
began : “ I b’lieve you’re from New York. I thought so the minute 
you came in. I have travelled from Dan to Beersheba, and been 
through the war, — was a corp’ral there, — and I generally spot you 
fellows when I first put my eye on you. I am Phineas Jones, — Phin 
for short. I hain’t any real profession, but am jack at all trades and 
good at none. Everybody knows me in these parts, and I know every- 
body.” 

Rex, who began to be greatly amused with this queer specimen, 
bowed an acknowledgment of the honor of knowing Mr. Jones, who 
said, “Be. you acquainted in Worcester?” 

“ Not at all. Was never here before,” was Rex’s reply, and Phineas 
continued : “Slow old place, some think, but I like it. Full of nice 
folks of all sorts, with clubs and lodges and societies, and no end of 
squabbles about temperance and city officers and all that. As for 
music, — my land, Pd smile to see any place hold a candle to us. Had 
all the crack singers here, even to the diver.” 

Rex, who had listened rather indifferently to Phineas’s laudations 
of Worcester, now asked if he knew much of the adjoining towns; 
Leicester, for instance. 

“ Wa-all, I’d smile,” Phineas replied, with a fierce assault upon the 
cuspidor. “Yes, I would smile if I didn’t know Leicester. Why, I 
was born there, and it’s always been my native town, except two or 
three years in Sturbridge, when I was a shaver, and the time I was 
to the war and travellin’ round. Pleasant town, but dull, — with 
no steam-cars nigher than Rochdale or Worcester. Got stages and 
an electric car to Spencer ; — run every half-hour. Think of goin’ 
there ?” 

Rex said he did, and asked the best way of getting there. 

“ Wa-all, there’s four ways, — the stage, but that’s gone ; hire a team 
and drive out, — that’s expensive ; take the steam cars for Rochdale and 
then drive out, — that’s expensive, too ; or take the electric, which is 
cheaper and pleasanter and quicker. Know anybody in Leicester ?” 

Rex said he didn’t, and asked if Phineas knew a place called 
Hal lam Homestead. 

“Wa-all, I’d smile if I didn’t,” Phineas replied. “Why, I’ve 
worked in hayin’-time six or seven summers for Square Leighton. He 
was ’lected justice of the peace twelve or fifteen years ago, and I call 
him Square yet, as a title seems to suit him, he’s so different-lookin’ 
from most farmers, — kind of high-toned, you know. Ort to have been 
an aristocrat. As to the Ilallams, who used to own the place, I’ve 
heard of ’em ever since I was knee-high ; I was acquainted with Carter ; 
first-rate feller. By the way, your name is Hallam. Any kin?” 

Rex explained his relationship to the Hal lams, while the smile 


MRS. HALL AM'S COMPANION . 


755 


habitual to Phineas’s face, which, with the expressions he used so often, 
had given him the sobriquet of Smiling Phin, broadened into a loud 
laugh of genuine delight and surprise, and, springing up, he grasped 
Rex’s hand, exclaiming, “ This beats the Dutch ! I’m glad to see 
you, I be. I thought you was all dead when Carter died. There’s a 
pile of you in the old Greenville graveyard. Why, you ’n’ I must be 
connected.” 

Rex looked at him wonderingly, while he went on : “ You see, 
Carter Hallam’s wife was Lucy Ann Brown, and her great-grand- 
mother and my great-grandfather were half brother and sister. Now, 
what relation be I to Lucy Ann, or to you ?” 

Rex confessed his inability to trace so remote a relationship on so 
hot a day, and Phineas rejoined, “’Tain’t very near, that’s a fact, but 
we’re related, though I never thought Lucy Ann hankered much for my 
society. I used to call her cousin, which made her mad. She was a 
handsome girl when she clerked it here in Worcester and roped Carter 
in. A high stepper, — turned up her nose when I ast her for her com- 
pany. That’s when she was bindin’ shoes, before she knew Carter. 
I don’t s’pose I could touch her now with a ten-foot pole, though I 
b’lieve I’ll call the fust time I’m in New York, if you’ll give me your 
number. Blood is blood. How is the old lady?” 

Here was a chance for Rex to inquire into his aunt’s antecedents, of 
which he knew so little, as she was very reticent with regard to her 
early life. He knew that she was an orphan and had no near relatives, 
and that she had once lived in Worcester, and that was all. The clerk- 
ship and the shoe-binding were news to him ; he did not even know 
before that she was Lucy Ann, as she had long ago dropped the Ann 
as too plebeian; but, with the delicacy of a true gentleman, he would 
not ask a question of this man, who, he was sure, would tell all he 
knew and a great deal more, if urged. 

“ I wonder what Aunt Lucy would say to being visited and cous- 
ined by this Yankee, who calls her an old lady,” he thought, as he 
said that she was very well and had just sailed for Europe, adding that 
she was still handsome and very young-looking. 

“ You don’t say !” Phineas exclaimed, and began at once to calculate 
her age, basing his data on a spelling-school in Sturbridge when she was 
twelve years old and had spelled him down, a circus in Fiskdale which 
she had attended with him when she was fifteen, and the time when he 
had asked for her company in Worcester. Naturally, he made her 
several years older than she really was. 

But she was not there to protest, and Rex did not care. He was 
more interested in his projected purchase than in his aunt’s age, and he 
asked if the Hallam farm were good or bad. 

“Wa-all, ’tain’t neither,” Phineas replied. “You see, it’s pretty 
much run down for want of means and management. The Square 
ain’t no kind of a farmer, and never was, and he didn’t ort to be one, 
but his wife persuaded him. My land, how a woman can twist a man 
round her fingers, especially if she’s kittenish and pretty and soft- 
spoken, as the Square’s wife was. She was from Georgy, and nothin’ 
would do but she must live on a farm and have it fixed up as nigh like 


756 


MRS. HALLAM’S COMPANION. 


her father’s plantation as she could. She took down the big chimbly 
and built some outside, — queer-lookin’ till the woodbine run up and 
covered ’em clear to the top, and now they’re pretty. She made a bath- 
room out of the but’try, and a but’try out of the meal-room. She 
couldn’t have niggers, nor, of course, nigger cabins, but she got him 
to build a lot of other out-houses, which cost a sight, — stables, and a 
dog-kennel.” 

“ Dog-kennels !” Rex interrupted, feeling more desirous than ever 
for a place with kennels already in it. “ How large are they?” 

“ There ain’t but one,” Phineas said, “ and that ain’t therqnow. It 
was turned into a pig-pen long ago, for the Square can’t abide dogs ; 
but there’s a hen-house, and smoke-house, and ice-house, and house over 
the well, and flower-garden with box borders, and yard terraced down 
to the orchard, with brick wall and steps, and a dammed brook ” 

“A what?” Reginald asked, in astonishment. 

“ Wa-all, I should smile if you thought I meant disrespect for the 
Bible : I didn’t. I’m a church member, — a Free Methodist and class- 
leader, and great on exhortatin’ and experiencin’, they say. I don’t 
swear. You spelt the word wrong, with an n instead of two m’s; 
that’s what’s the matter. That’s the word your aunt Lucy Ann spelt 
me down on at the spellin’-school. We two stood up longest and were 
tryin’ for the medal. I was more used to the word with an n in it than 
I am now, and got beat. What I mean about the brook is that it runs 
acrost the road into the orchard, and Mis’ Leighton had it dammed up 
with boards and stones to make a waterfall, with a rustic bridge below 
it, and a butternut-tree, and a seat under it, where you can set and view 
nature. But, bless your soul, such things don’t pay, and if Mis’ 
Leighton had lived she’d of ruined the Square teetotally. But she died, 
poor thing, and the Square’s hair turned white in six months.” 

“ What family has Mr. Leighton ?” Rex asked, and Phineas replied, 
“Two girls, that’s all ; one handsome as blazes, like her mother, and 
the other — wa-all, she is nice-lookin’, with a motherly, venerable kind of 

face that everybody trusts. She stays to hum, Dorcas does, while ” 

Here he was interrupted by Rex, who, more interested just then in the 
farm than in the girls, asked if it was for sale. 

“ For sale ?” Phineas replied. “ I’d smile to see the Square sell his 
farm, though he owes a pile on it ; borrows of Peter to pay Paul, you 
know, and so keeps a-goin’; but I don’t b’lieve he’d sell for love nor 
money.” 

“Not if he could get cash down and, say, a thousand more than it 
is worth ?” Rex suggested. 

Staggered by the thousand dollars, which seemed like a fortune 
to one who had never had more than a few hundred at a time in his 
life, Phineas gasped. “One thousand extry ! Wa-all, I swan, a thou- 
sand extry would tempt some men to sell their souls ; but I don’t know 
about its fetchin’ the Square. Think of buyin’ it ?” 

Rex said he did. 

“ For yourself?” 

“ Yes, for myself.” 

“ You goin’ to turn farmer ?” and Phineas looked him over from 


MRS. HALL AM'S COMPANION. 


757 


head to foot. “ Wa-all, if that ain’t curi’s. I’d smile to see you, or one 
of your New York dudes, a-farmin’ it, with your high collars, your 
long coats and wide trouses and yaller shoes and canes and eye-glasses, 
and hands that never done a stroke of hard work in your lives. Yes, I 
would.” 

Rex had never felt so small in his life as when Phineas was draw- 
ing a picture he recognized as tolerably correct of most of his class, and 
he half wished his collar was a trifle lower and his coat a little shorter, 
but he laughed good-humoredly and said, “ I am afraid we do seem 
a useless lot to you, and I suppose we might wear older-fashioned 
clothes, but I can’t help the glasses. I couldn’t see across the street 
without them.” 

“ I want to know,” Phineas said. “ Wa-all, they ain’t bad on you, 
they’re so clear and hain’t no rims to speak of. They make you look 
like a literary feller, or more like a minister. Be you a professor?” 

Rex flushed a little at the close questioning, expecting to be asked 
next how much he was worth afld where his money was invested, but 
he answered honestly, “ I wish I could say yes, but I can’t.” 

“ What a pity ! Come to one of our raeetins’, and we’ll convert 
you in no time. What persuasion be you?” 

Reginald said he was an Episcopalian, and Phineas’s face fell a lit- 
tle. He hadn’t much faith in Episcopalians, thinking their service was 
mere form, with nothing in it which he could enjoy, except that he did 
not have to sit still long enough to get sleepy, and there were so many 
places where he could come in strong with an Amen, as he always did. 
This opinion, however, he did not express to Reginald. He merely 
said, “ Wa-all, there’s good folks in every church. I do b’lieve the 
Square is pious, and he’s a ’Piscopal. Took it from his Georgy wife, 
who had a good many other fads. You have a good face, like all the 
Hallams, and I b’lieve they died in the faith. Says so, anyway, on 
their tombstones ; but monuments lie as well as obituaries. But I 
ain’t a-goin’ to discuss religious tenants, though I’m fust-rate at it, they 
say. I want to know what you want of a farm?” 

Rex told him that he had long wished for a place in the country 
where he could spend a part of each year with a few congenial friends, 
hunting and Ashing and boating, and from what he had heard of the 
Homestead he thought it would just suit him, there were so many hills 
and woods and ponds around it. “Are there pleasant drives?” he 
asked, and Phineas replied, “Tip-top, the city folks think. "Woods 
full of roads leading nowhere except to some old house a hundred 
years old or more, and the older they be the better the city folks like 
’em. Why, they actu’lly go into the garrets and buy up old spinning- 
wheels and desks and chairs; and, my land, they’re crazy over tall 
clocks.” 

Rex did not care much for the furniture of the old garrets unless 
it should happen to belong to the Hallams, and he asked next if there 
were foxes in the woods, and if he could get up a hunt with dogs and 
horses. Phineas did not smile, but laughed long and loud, and deluged 
the cuspidor, before he replied, “ Wa-all, if I won’t give up ! A fox- 
hunt, with hounds and horses, tearin’ through the folks’s fields and 


758 


MRS. HALL AM’S COMPANION. 


gardens! Why, you’d be mobbed. You’d be tarred and feathered. 
You’d be rid on a rail.” 

“ But,” Rex exclaimed, “ I should keep on my own premises. A 
man has a right to do what he pleases with his own,” — a remark which 
so affected Phineas that he doubled up with laughter, as he said, 
“ That’s so; but, bless your soul, the Homestead farm ain’t big enough 
for a hunt. It takes acres and acres for that, and if you had ’em the 
foxes wouldn’t stop to ask if it’s your premises or somebody else’s. 
They ain’t likely to take to the open if they can help it, but with the 
dogs to their heels and widder Brady’s garden right before ’em they’d 
make a run for it. Her farm jines the Homestead, and ’twould be good 
as a circus to see the hounds tearin’ up her sage and her gooseberries and 
her voilets. She’d be out with brooms and mops and pokers ; and, 
besides that, the Leicester women would be up in arms and say ’twas 
cruel for a lot of men to hunt a poor fox to death just for fun. They 
are great on Bergh, Leicester women are, and they might arrest you.” 

Reginald saw his fox-hunts fadin’g into air, and was about to ask 
what there was in the woods which he could hunt without fear of the 
widow Brady or the Bergh ladies of the town, when Phineas sprang 
up, exclaiming, “ Hullo ! there’s the Square now. I saw him in town 
this mornin’ about some plasterin’ I ort to have done six weeks 
ago.” And he darted from the door, while Rex, looking from the 
window, saw an old horse drawing an old buggy in which sat an old 
man, evidently intent upon avoiding a street-car rapidly approaching 
him, while Phineas was making frantic efforts to stop him. But a car 
from an opposite direction and a carriage blocked his way, and by the 
time these had passed the old man and buggy were too far up the street 
for him to be heard or to overtake them. 

“ I’m awful sorry,” he said, as he returned to the hotel. “ He was 
alone, and you could of rid with him as well as not and saved your 
fare.” 

Rex thanked him for his kind intentions, but said he did not mind 
the fare in the least and preferred the electric car. Then, as he wished 
to look about the city a little, he bade good-by to Phineas, who accom- 
panied him to the door, and said, “ Mabby you’d better mention my 
name to the Square as a surety that you’re all right. He hain’t 
travelled as much as I have, nor seen as many swells like you, and he 
might take you for a confidence-man.” 

Rex promised to make use of his new friend if he found it neces- 
sary, and walked away, while Phineas looked after him admiringly, 
thinking, “ That’s a fine chap ; not a bit stuck up. Glad I’ve met him, 
for now I shall visit Lucy Ann when she comes home. He’s a little 
off; though, on his farm and his fox-hunts.” 

Meanwhile, Reginald walked through several streets, and at last 
found himself in the vicinity of the electric car, which he took for 
Leicester. It was a pleasant ride, and he enjoyed it immensely, es- 
pecially after they were out in the country and began to climb the long 
hill. At his request he was put down at the cross-road and the gabled 
house pointed out to him. Very eagerly he looked about him as he 
went slowly up the avenue or lane bordered with cherry-trees on one 


MRS. HALL AM'S COMPANION. 759 

side, and on the other commanding an unobstructed view of the country 
for miles around, with its valleys and thickly wooded hills. 

“ This is charming, ” he said, as he turned his attention next to the 
house and its surroundings. 

How quiet and pleasant it looked, with its gables and picturesque 
chimneys under the shadow of the big apple-tree in the rear and the 
big elm in the front ! He could see the out-buildings of which Phineas 
had told him, — the well-house, the hen-house, the smoke-house, the ice- 
house and stable, — and could hear the faint sound of the brook in the 
orchard falling over the dam into the basin below. 

“ I wish I had lived here when a boy, as my father and uncle did,” 
he thought, just as a few big drops of rain fell upon the grass. He 
noticed for the first time how black it was overhead, and how threaten- 
ing were the clouds rolling up so fast from the west. 

It had been thundering at intervals ever since he left Worcester, 
and in the sultry air there was that stillness which portends the coming 
of a severe storm. But he had paid no attention to it, and now he did 
not hasten his steps until there came a deafening crash of thunder, fol- 
lowed instantaneously by a drenching downpour of rain, which seemed 
to come in sheets rather than in drops, and he knew that in a few min- 
utes he would be wet through, as his coat was rather thin and he had 
no umbrella. He was still some little distance from the house, but by 
running swiftly he was soon under the shelter of the piazza, and knock- 
ing at the door, with a hope that it might be opened by the girl who 
Phineas had said “ was handsome as blazes.” 


CHAPTER VIII. 

REX AT THE HOMESTEAD. 

The day had been longer and lonelier to Dorcas than the previous 
one, for then she had gone with Bertha to the train in Worcester, Rnd 
after saying good-by had done some shopping in town and made a few 
calls before returning home. She had then busied herself with clear- 
ing up Bertha’s room, which was not an altogether easy task. Bertha 
was never as orderly as her sister, and, in the confusion of packing, her 
room was in a worse condition than usual. But to clear it up was a 
labor of love, over which Dorcas lingered as long as possible,, Then 
when all was done and she had closed the shutters and dropped the 
shades, she knelt by the white bed and amid a rain of tears prayed God 
to protect the dear sister on sea and land and bring her safely back to 
the home which was so desolate without her. That was yesterday ; but 
to-day there had been comparatively nothing to do, for after an early 
breakfast her father had started for Boylston, hoping to collect a debt 
which had long been due and the payment of which would help to- 
wards the mortgage. After he had gone and her morning work was 
done, Dorcas sat down alone in the great lonely house and began to 
cry, wondering what she should do to pass the long hours before her 
father’s return. 

“ I wish I had Bertha’s room to straighten up again,” she thought. 


760 


MRS. 11 ALL AM'S COMPANION. 


“ Anyway I’ll go and look at it.” And, drying her eyes, she went up 
to the room, which seemed so dark and close and gloomy that she 
opened the windows and threw back the blinds, letting in the full sun- 
light and warm summer air. “She was fond of air and sunshine,” she 
said to herself, remembering the many times they had differed on that 
point, she insisting that so much sun faded the carpets, and Bertha in- 
sisting that she would have it, carpets or no carpets. Bertha was fond 
of flowers, too, and in their season kept the house full of them. This 
Dorcas also remembered, and, going to the garden, she gathered great 
clusters of roses and white lilies, which she arranged in two bouquets, 
putting one on the bureau and the other on the deep window-seat, where 
Bertha used to sit so often when at home, and where one of her favorite 
books was lying, with her work-basket and a bit of embroidery she 
had played at doing. The book and the basket Dorcas had left on the 
window-seat with something of the feeling which prompts us to keep 
the rooms of our dead as they left them. At the side of the bed and 
partly under it she had found a pair of half-worn slippers, which Bertha 
was in the habit of wearing at night while undressing, and these she 
had also left, they looked so much like Bertha, with their worn toes 
and high French heels. Now as she saw them she thought to put them 
away, but decided to leave them, as it was not likely any one would 
occupy the room in Bertha’s absence. 

“ There, it looks more cheerful now,” she said, surveying the apart- 
ment with its sunlight and flowers. Then, going down-stairs, she 
whiled away the hours as best she could until it was time to prepare 
supper for her father, whose coming she watched for anxiously, hoping 
he would reach home before the storm which was fast gathering in the 
west and sending out flashes of lightning, with angry growls of thunder. 
“ He will be hungry and tired, and I mean to give him his favorite 
dishes,” she thought, as she busied herself in the kitchen. With a view 
to make his home-coming as pleasant as possible, she laid the table with 
the best cloth and napkins and the gilt-band china, used only on great 
occasions, and put on a plate for Bertha and a bowl of roses in the 
centre, with one or two buds at each plate. “ Now, that looks nice,” 
she thought, surveying her work with a good deal of satisfaction, “ and 
father will be pleased. I wish he would come. How black the sky is 
getting, and how angry the clouds look !” Then she thought of Bertha 
on the sea, and wondered if the storm would reach her, and was silently 
praying that it would not, when she saw old Bush and the buggy pass 
the windows, and in a few moments her father came in, looking very 
pale and tired. He had had a long ride for nothing, as the man who 
owed him could not pay, but he brightened at once when he saw the 
attractive tea-table and divined why all the best things were out. 

“ You are a good girl, Dorcas, and I don’t know what I should 
do without you now,” he said, stroking Dorcas’s hair caressingly, and 
adding, “ Now let us have supper. I am hungry as a bear, as Bertha 
would say.” 

Dorcas started to leave the room just as she heard the sound of the 
bell and knew the electric car was coming up the hill. Though she 
had seen it so many times, she always stopped to look at it, and she 


MRS. HALL AM'S COMPANION. 


761 


stopped now and saw Reginald alight from it and saw the conductor 
point towards their house as if directing him to it. “ Who can it be ?” 
she thought, calling her father to the window, where they both stood 
watching the stranger as he came slowly along the avenue. “ How 
queerly he acts, stopping so much to look around ! Don’t he know it 
is beginning to rain?” she said, just as the crash and downpour came 
which sent Rex flying towards the house. 

“Oh, father!” Dorcas exclaimed, clutching his arm, “don’t you 
know, Mr. Gorham wrote that the New-Yorker who wanted to buy our 
farm might come to look at it? I believe this is he. What shall we 
do with him? Bertha told us to shut the door in his face.” 

“ You would hardly keep a dog out in a storm like this. Why, I 
can’t see across the road. I never knew it rain so fast,” Mr. Leighton 
replied, as Rex’s knock sounded on the door, which Dorcas opened just 
as a vivid flash of lightning lit up the sky and was followed instanta- 
neously by a deafening peal of thunder and a dash of rain which swept 
half-way down the hall. 

“Oh, my!” Dorcas said, holding back her dress; and “Great 
Scott !” Rex exclaimed, as he sprang inside and helped her close the 
door. Then, turning to her, he said, with a smile which disarmed her 
at once of any prejudice she might have against him, “I beg your 
pardon for coming in so unceremoniously. I should have been drenched 
in another minute. Does Mr. Leighton live here?” 

Dorcas said he did, and, opening a door to her right, bade him 
enter. Glancing in, Rex felt sure it was the best room, and drew back, 
saying, apologetically, “I am not fit to go in there, or indeed to go 
anywhere. I believe I am wet to the skin. Look.” And he pointed 
to the little puddles of water which had dripped from his coat and were 
running over the floor. 

His concern was so genuine, and the eyes so kind which looked at 
Dorcas, that he did not seem like a stranger, and she said to him, “ I 
should say you were wet. You’d better take off your coat and let me 
dry it by the kitchen fire, or you will take cold.” 

“ She is a motherly little girl, as Phineas Jones said,” Rex thought, 
feeling sure that this was not the one who was “ handsome as blazes,” 
but the nice one, who thought of everything, and if his first smile had 
not won her his second would have done so, as he said, “ Thanks. 
You are very kind, but I’ll not trouble you to do that, and perhaps I’d 
better introduce myself. I am Reginald Hallam, from New York, and 
my father used to live here.” 

“ Oh-h !” Dorcas exclaimed, her fear of the dreaded stranger who 
was coming to buy their farm vanishing at once, while she wondered 
in a vague way where she had heard the name before, but did not asso- 
ciate it with Louie Thurston’s hero, of whom Bertha had told her. 

He was one of the Hallams, of whom the old people in town 
thought so much, and it was natural that he should wish to see the old 
homestead. At this point Mr. Leighton came into the hall and was 
introduced to the stranger, whom he welcomed cordially, while Dorcas, 
with her hospitable instincts in full play, again insisted that he should 
remove his wet coat and shoes before he took cold. 


762 


MRS. IIALLAM'S COMPANION. 


“ They are a little damp, that’s a fact ; but what can I do without 
them ?” Reginald replied, beginning to feel very uncomfortable, and 
knowing that in all probability a sore throat would be the result of his 
bath. 

* I’ll tell you,” Dorcas said, looking at her father. “ He can wear 
the dressing-gown and slippers Bertha gave you last Christmas.” And 
before Rex could stop her she was off up-stairs in her father’s bedroom, 
from which she returned with a pair of Turkish slippers and a soft 
gray cashmere dressing-gown with dark blue velvet facing, collar, and 
cuffs. 

“ Father never wore them but a few times ; he says they are too 
fine,” she said to Rex, who, much against his will, soon found himself 
arrayed in Mr. Leighton’s gown and slippers, while Dorcas carried his 
wet coat and shoes in triumph to the kitchen fire. 

“ Well, this is a lark,” Rex thought, as he caught sight of himself 
in the glass. “ I wonder what Phineas Jones would say if he knew 
that instead of being taken for a confidence man I’m received as a son 
and a brother and dressed up in ‘ the Square’s’ best clothes.” 

Supper was ready by this time, and without any demur, which he 
knew would be useless, Rex sat down to the table which Dorcas had 
made so pretty, rejoicing now that she had done so, wondering if their 
guest would notice it, and feeling glad that he was in Bertha’s chair. 
He did notice everything, and especially the flowers and the extra seat, 
which he occupied, and which he knew was not put there for him, but 
probably for the handsome girl, who would come in when the storm 
was over, and he found himself thinking more of her than of the bless- 
ing which Mr. Leighton asked so reverently, adding a petition that 
God would care for the loved one wherever and in whatever danger 
she might be. 

“ Maybe that’s the girl ; but where the dickens can she be that she 
is in danger?” Rex thought, just as a clap of thunder louder than any 
which had preceded it shook the house and made Dorcas turn pale as 
she said to her father, “Oh, do you suppose it will reach her?” 

“ I think not,” Mr. Leighton replied ; then, turning to Rex, he 
said, “My youngest daughter, Bertha, is on the sea, — sailed in the 
Teutonic this morning, — and Dorcas is afraid the storm may reach 
her.” 

“Sailed this morning in the Teutonic !” Rex repeated. “So did 
my aunt, Mrs. Carter Hal lam.” 

“ Mrs. Carter Hal lam !” and Dorcas set down her cup of tea with 
such force that some of it was spilled upon the snowy cloth. “Why, 
that is the name of the lady with whom Bertha has gone as com- 
panion.” 

It was Rex’s turn now to be surprised. Explanations followed. 

“I supposed all the Hallams of Leicester were dead, and never 
thought of associating Mrs. Carter with them,” Mr. Leighton said, 
while Rex in turn explained that as Miss Leighton’s letter had been 
written in Boston and he had addressed her there for his aunt it did 
not occur to him that her home was here at the Homestead. 

“Did you see her on the ship, and was she well?” Dorcas asked, 


MRS. II ALL AM'S COMPANION. 


763 


and he replied that, as he reached the steamer only in time to say 
good-by to his aunt, he did not see Miss Leighton, but he knew she 
was there and presumably well. “ I am sorry now that I did not 
meet her/’ he added, looking more closely at Dorcas than he had done 
before, and trying to trace some resemblance between her and the 
photograph he had dubbed Squint-Eye. 

But there was none, and he felt a good deal puzzled, wondering 
what Phineas meant by calling Dorcas “ handsome as blazes.” She 
must be the one referred to, for no human being could ever accuse 
Squint-Eye of any degree of beauty. And yet how the father and 
sister loved her, and how the old man’s voice trembled when he spoke 
of her, always with pride, it seemed to Bex, who began at last himself 
to feel a good deal of interest in her. He knew now that he was occu- 
pying her seat, and that the rose-bud he had fastened in his button- 
hole was put there for her, and he hoped his aunt would treat her well. 

“ I mean to write and give her some points, for there’s no guessing 
what Mrs. Walker Haynes may put her up to do,” he thought, just as 
he caught the name of Phineas and heard Mr. Leighton saying to 
Dorcas, “ I saw him this morning, and he thinks he will get up in the 
course of a week and do the plastering.” 

“ Not before a week ! How provoking !” Dorcas replied, while Bex 
ventured to say, “ Are you speaking of Phineas Jones? I made his 
acquaintance this morning, or rather he made mine. Quite a character, 
isn’t he ?” 

“ I should say he was,” Dorcas replied, while her father rejoined, 
“ Everybody knows Phineas, and everybody likes him. He is nobody’s 
enemy but his own, and shiftlessness is his great fault. He can do 
almost everything, and do it well, too. He’ll work a few weeks, — 
maybe a few months, — and then lie- idle, visiting and talking, till he 
has spent all he earned. He knows everybody’s business and history, 
and will sacrifice everything for his friends. He attends every camp 
meeting he can hear of, and is apt to lose his balance and have what 
he calls the power. He comes here quite often, and is very handy in 
fixing up. I’ve got a little job waiting for him now, where the 
plastering fell off in the front chamber, and I dare say it will continue 
to wait. But I like the fellow, and am sorry for him. I don’t know 
that he has a relative in the world.” 

Bex could have told of his aunt Lucy and that through her Phineas 
claimed relationship to himself, but concluded not to open up a subject 
which he knew would be obnoxious to his aunt. Supper was over by 
this time, but the rain was still falling heavily, and when Bex asked 
how far it was to the hotel both Mr. Leighton and Dorcas invited him 
so cordially to spend the night with them that he decided to do so, and 
then began to wonder how he should broach the real object of his visit. 
From all Phineas had told him, and from what he had seen of Mr. 
Leighton, he began to be doubtful of success, but it was worth trying 
for, and he was ready to offer fifteen hundred dollars extra, if neces- 
sary. His coat and shoes were dry bv this time, and habited in them 
he felt more like himself, and after Dorcas had removed her apron, 
showing that her evening work was done, and had taken her seat near 


764 


MRS. II ALL AM'S COMPANION . 


her father, he said, “ By the way, did Mr. Gorham ever write to you 
that a New-Yorker would like to buy your farm?” 

“ Yes,” Mr. Leighton replied, and Rex continued, “ I am the man, 
and that is my business here.” 

“ Oh !” and Dorcas moved uneasily in her chair, while her father 
answered, “ I thought so.” 

Then there was a silence, which Rex finally broke, telling why he 
wanted that particular farm and what he was willing to give for it, 
knowing before he finished that he had failed. The farm was not for 
sale, except under compulsion, which Mr. Leighton hoped might be 
avoided, explaining matters so minutely that Rex had a tolerably 
accurate knowledge of the state of affairs and knew why the daughter 
had gone abroad as his aunt’s companion, in preference to remaining in 
the employ of Swartz & Co. 

“ Confound it, if I hadn’t insisted upon aunt’s offering five hundred 
instead of three hundred, as she proposed doing, Bertha would not have 
gone, and I might have got the place,” he thought. 

Mr. Leighton continued, “ 1 think it would kill me to lose the 
home where I have lived so long, but if it must be sold I’d rather you 
should have it than any one I know, and if worst comes to worst, and 
anything happens to Bertha, I’ll let you know in time to buy it.” 

He looked so white and his voice shook so as he talked that Rex 
felt his castles and fox-hunts all crumbling together, and, with his 
usual impulsiveness, began to wonder if Mr. Leighton would accept 
aid from him in case of an emergency. It was nearly ten o’clock by 
this time, and Mr. Leighton said, u I suppose this is early for city folks, 
but in the country we retire early, and I am tired. We always have 
prayers at night. Bring the books, daughter, and we’ll sing the 267th 
hymn.” 

Dorcas did as she was bidden, and, offering a Hymnal to Rex, 
opened an old-fashioned piano and began to play and sing, accompanied 
by her father, whose trembling voice quavered along until he reached 
the words, — 

Oh, hear us when we cry to Thee 
For those in peril on the sea. 

Then he broke down entirely, while Dorcas soon followed, and Rex 
was left to finish alone, which he did without the slightest hesitancy. 
He had a rich tenor voice ; taking up the air where Dorcas dropped it, 
he sang the hymn to the end, while Mr. Leighton stood with closed 
eyes and a rapt expression on his face, listening to the melody. 

“ I wish Bertha could hear that. Let us pray,” he said, when the 
song was ended, and, before he quite knew what he was doing, Rex 
found himself on his knees, listening to Mr. Leighton’s fervent prayer, 
which closed with the petition for the safety of those upon the deep. 

As Rex had told Phineas Jones, he was not a professor, and he 
did not call himself a very religious man. He attended church every 
Sunday morning with his aunt, went through the services reverently, 
and listened to the sermon attentively, but not all the splendors of St. 
Thomas’s Church had ever impressed him as did that simple, homely 


MRS. HALL AM’S COMPANION. 


765 


service in the farm-house among the Leicester hills, where his “ Amen” 
to the prayer for those upon the sea was loud and distinct, and in- 
cluded in it not only his aunt and Bertha, but also the girl whom 
he had knocked down, who seemed to haunt him strangely. 

“ If I were to have much of this, Phineas would not be obliged to 
take me to one of his meetings to convert me,” he thought, as he arose 
from his knees and signified his readiness to retire. 


CHAPTER IX. 

REX MAKES DISCOVERIES. 

It was Mr. Leighton who conducted Bex to his sleeping-room, 
saying, as he put the lamp down upon the dressing-bureau, “ There’s 
a big patch of plaster off in the best chamber, where the girls put 
company, so you are to sleep in here. This is Bertha’s room.” 

Bex became interested immediately. To occupy a young girl’s 
room, even if that girl were Squint-Eye, was a novel experience, and 
after Mr. Leighton had said good-night he began to look about with a 
good deal of curiosity. Everything was plain, but neat and dainty, 
from the pretty matting and soft fur rug on the floor to the bed, 
which looked like a white pin-cushion, with 'its snowy counterpane 
and fluted pillow-shams. 

“ It is just the room a nice kind of a girl would be apt to have, 
and it doesn’t seem as if a great, hulking fellow like me ought to be 
in it,” he said, fancying he could detect a faint perfume such as he 
knew some girls affected. “ I think, though, it’s the roses and lilies. 
I don’t believe Squint-Eye goes in for Lubin and Pinaud and such 
like,” he thought, just as he caught sight of the slippers, which Dorcas 
had forgotten to remove when she arranged the room for him. 

“ Halloo ! here are Cinderella’s shoes, as I live,” he said, taking one 
of them up and handling it gingerly as if afraid he should break it. 
“ French heels; and, by Jove, she’s got a small foot, and a well-shaped 
one, tool I wouldn’t have thought that of Squint-Eye,” he said, with 
a feeling that the girl he called Squint-Eye had no right either in the 
room or in the slipper, which he put down carefully, and then continued 
his investigations, coming next to the window-seat, where the work- 
basket and book were lying. “ Embroiders, I see. Wouldn’t be a 
woman if she didn’t,” he said, as he glanced at the bit of fancy-work 
left in the basket. Then his eye caught the book, which he took up 
and saw was a volume of Tennyson, which showed a good deal of 
usage. “ Poetical, too! Wouldn’t have thought that of her, either. 
She doesn’t look it.” Then, turning to the fly-leaf, he read, “ Bertha 
Leighton. From her cousin Louie. Christmas, 18 — .” 

“By George,” he exclaimed, “that is Louie Thurston’s hand- 
writing. Not quite as scrawly as it was when we wrote the girl and 
boy letters to each other, but the counterpart of the note she sent me 
last summer in Saratoga, asking me to ride with her and Fred. And 
she calls herself cousin to this Bertha ! I remember now she once told 
me she had some relatives North. They must be these Leightons, and 


766 


MRS. HALL AM'S COMPANION. 


I have come here to find them and aunt's companion too. Truly the 
world is very small. Poor little Louie ! I don't believe she is happy. 
No woman could be that with Fred, if he is my friend. Poor little 
Louie !" 

There was a world of pathos and pity in Rex's voice as he said, 
“ Poor little Louie !" and stood looking at her handwriting and thinking 
of the beautiful girl whom he might perhaps have won for his own. 
But if any regret for what might have been mingled with his thoughts, 
he gave no sign of it, except that the expression of his face was a 
shade more serious as he put the book back in its place and prepared 
for bed, where he lay awake a long time, thinking of Louie, and 
Squint-Eye, and the girl he had knocked down on the ship, and Rose 
Arabella Jefferson, whose face was the last he remembered before going 
to sleep. 

The next morning was bright and fair, with no trace of the storm 
visible except in the freshened foliage and the puddles of water stand- 
ing here and there in the road, and Rex, as he looked from his window 
upon the green hills and valleys, felt a pang of disappointment that 
the place he so coveted could never be his. Breakfast was waiting 
when he went down to the dining-room, and while at the table he 
spoke of Louie and asked if she were not a cousin. 

“ Oh, yes," Dorcas said, quickly, a little proud of this grand rela- 
tion. “ Louie's mother and ours were sisters. She told Bertha she 
knew you. Isn’t she lovely?" 

Rex said she was lovely, and that he had known her since she was 
a child, and had been in college with her husband. Then he changed 
the conversation by inquiring about the livery-stables in town. He 
would like, he said, to drive about the neighborhood a little before 
returning to New York, and see the old cemetery where so many 
Hallams were buried. 

“ Horses enough, but you've got to walk into town to get them. 
If old Bush will answer your purpose you are quite welcome to him," 
Mr. Leighton said. 

“ Thanks," Rex replied. “ I am already indebted to you for so 
much that I may as well be indebted for more. I will take old Bush, 
and perhaps Miss Leighton will go with me as a guide." 

This Dorcas was quite willing to do, and the two were soon driving 
together through the leafy woods and pleasant roads and past the old 
houses, where the people came to the doors and windows to see what 
fine gentleman Dorcas Leighton had with her. Every one whom they 
met spoke to Dorcas and inquired for Bertha, in whom all seemed 
greatly interested. 

“ Your sister must be very popular. This is the thirteenth person 
who has stopped you to ask for her," Rex said, as an old Scotchman 
finished his inquiries by saying, “ She's a bonnie lassie, God bless her." 

“ She is popular, and deservedly so. I wish you knew her," was 
Dorcas's reply ; and then, as a conviction, born he knew not when or 
why, kept increasing in Rex's mind, he asked, “ Would you mind tell- 
ing me how she looks? Is she dark or fair? tall or short? fat or 
lean?" 


MRS. HALL A M'S COMPANION. 707 

Dorcas answered unhesitatingly, “ She is very beautiful, — neither 
fat nor lean, tall nor short, dark nor fair, but just right.” 

“ Oh-h !” and Rex drew a long breath as Dorcas went on : “ She 
has a lovely complexion, with brilliant color, perfect features, reddish- 
brown hair with glints of gold in it in the sunlight, and the hand- 
somest eyes you ever saw, — large and bright and almost black at times 
when she is excited or pleased, — long lashes, and carries herself like a 
queen.” 

“ Oh-h !” Rex said again, recognizing the picture which Dorcas 
had drawn of her sister and knowing that Rose Arabella Jefferson had 
fallen from her pedestal of beauty and was really the Squint-Eye of 
whom he had thought so derisively. “Have you a photograph of 
her ?” he asked, and Dorcas replied that she had and would show it to 
him if he liked. 

They had reached home by this time, and, bringing out an old and 
well-filled album, Dorcas pointed to a photograph which Rex recog- 
nized as a fac-simile of the one his aunt had insisted belonged to Miss 
Jefferson. He could not account for the peculiar sensations which 
swept over him and kept deepening in intensity as he looked at the 
face which attracted him more now than when he believed it that of 
Rose Arabella of Scotsburg. 

“ I wish you would let me have this. I am a regular photo-fiend, 
— have a stack of them at home, and would like mightily to add this to 
the lot,” he said, remembering that the one he had was defaced with 
Rose Arabella’s name. 

But Dorcas declined. “ Bertha would not like it,” she said, taking 
the album from him quickly, as if she read his thoughts and feared lest 
he would take the picture whether she were willing or not. 

It was now time for Rex to go, if he would catch the next car for 
Worcester. After thanking Mr. Leighton and Dorcas for their hospi- 
tality and telling them to be sure and let him know whenever they 
came to New York, so that he might return their kindness, he bade 
them good-by, with a feeling that although he had lost his fancy farm 
and fox-hunts he had gained two valuable friends. 

“ They are about the nicest people I ever met,” he said, as he 
walked down the avenue. “ Couldn’t have done more if I had been 
related. I ought to have told them to come straight to our house if 
they were ever in New York, and I would if it were mine. But 
Aunt Lucy wouldn’t like it. I wonder she didn’t tell me about the 
mistake in the photographs when I was on the ship. Maybe she 
didn’t think of it, I saw her so short a time. I remember, though, 
that she did say that Miss Leighton was there and rather too high and 
mighty, and, by George, I told her to sit down on her ! I have made a 
mess of it; but I will write at once and go over sooner than I intended, 
for there is no telling what Mrs. Haynes may put my aunt up to do. 
I will not have that girl snubbed ; and if I find them at it, I’ll ” 

Here he gave an energetic flourish of his cane in the air to attract 
the conductor of the fast-coming car, and posterity will never know 
what he intended doing to his aunt and Mrs. Walker Haynes if he 
found them snubbing that girl. 


768 


MRS. HALL AM'S COMPANION. 


CHAPTER X. 

AT AIX-EES-BAINS. 

There was a stop of a few days at the Metropole in London, where 
Mrs. Hal lam engaged a courier; there was another stop at the Grand 
in Paris, where a ladies’ maid was secured ; and, thus equipped, Mrs. 
Hallam felt that she was indeed travelling en prince as she journeyed 
on to Aix, where Mrs. Walker Haynes met her at the station with a 
very handsome turnout, which was afterwards included in Mrs. Hal- 
lam’s bill. 

“ I knew you would not care to go in the ’bus with your servants, 
so I ventured to order the carriage for you,” she said, as they wound 
up the steep hill to the Hotel Splendide. 

Then she told what she had done for her friend’s comfort and the 
pleasure it had been to do it, notwithstanding all the trouble and 
annoyance she had been subjected to. The season was at its height, 
and all the hotels were crowded, especially the Splendide. A grande 
duchesse with her suite occupied the guest-rooms on the first floor, where 
Mrs. Hallam ought to be; the King of Greece had all the second floor 
south of the main entrance ; while English, Jews, Spaniards, Greeks, 
and Russians had the rooms at the other end of the hall. Some of 
these she had tried to have removed, but the proprietor was firm ; con- 
sequently Mrs. Hallam must be content with the third floor, where a 
salon and a bedchamber, with balcony attached, had been reserved for 
her. She had found the most trouble with the salon, she said, as a 
French countess was determined to have it, and she had secured it only 
by engaging it at once two weeks ago and promising more per day than 
the countess was willing to give for it. As it had to be paid for whether 
occupied or not, she had taken the liberty to use it herself, knowing 
her friend would not care. Mrs. Hallam didn’t care, even when later 
on she found that the salon had been accredited to her since she first 
wrote to Mrs. Haynes that she was coming and asked her to secure 
rooms. She was accustomed to being fleeced by Mrs. Haynes, whom 
Rex called a second Becky Sharp. The salon business being settled, 
Mrs. Haynes ventured farther and said that as she had been obliged 
to dismiss her maid and had had so much trouble to fill her place she 
had finally decided to wait until her friend came, when possibly the 
services of one maid would answer for both ladies. 

“Gracie prefers to wait upon herself,” she continued, “but I find 
it convenient at times to have some one do my hair and lay out my 
dresses and go with me to the baths, which I take about ten ; you, no 
doubt, who have plenty of money, will go down early in one of those 
covered chairs which two men bring to your room. It is a most com- 
fortable way of doing, as you are wrapped in a blanket quite en des- 
habille and put into a chair, the curtains are dropped, and you are 
taken to the bath and back in time for your first dtjedner, and are all 
through with the baths early and can enjoy yourself the rest of the 
day. It is rather expensive, of course, and I cannot afford it, but all 
who can, do. The Scrantoms from New York, the Montgomerys from 
Boston, the Harwoods from London, and old Lady Gresham, all go 


MBS. HALL AM'S COMPANION. 


769 


down that way; quite a high-toned procession, which some impertinent 
American girls try to kodak. I shall introduce you to these people. 
They know you are coming, and you are sure to like them.” 

Mrs. Haynes knew just what chord to touch with her ambitious 
friend, who was as clay in her hands. By the time the hotel was 
reached it had been arranged that she was not only to continue to use 
the salon, but was also welcome to the services of Mrs. Hallam’s maid, 
Celine, and her courier, Browne, and possibly her companion, although 
on this point she was doubtful, as the girl had a mind of her own and 
was not easily managed. 

“ I saw that in her face the moment I looked at her, and thought 
she might give you trouble. She really looked as if she expected me 
to speak to her. Who is she ?” Mrs. Haynes asked, and very briefly 
Mrs. Hallam told all she knew of her, — of the mistake in the photo- 
graphs, of Reginald’s admiration of the one which was really Bertha’s, 
and of his encounter with her on the ship. 

“Hm; yes,” Mrs. Walker rejoined, reflectively, and in an instant 
her tactics were resolved upon. 

Possessed of a large amount of worldly wisdom and foresight, she 
boasted that she could read the end from the beginning, and on this 
occasion her quick instincts told her that, given a chance, this hired 
companion might come between her and her plan of marrying her 
daughter Grace to Rex Hallam, who was everyway desirable as a son- 
in-law. She had seen enough of him to know that if he cared for a 
girl it would make no difference whether she were a wage-earner or the 
daughter of a duke, and Bertha might prove a formidable rival. He 
had admired her photograph and been kind to her on the boat, and 
when he met her again there was no knowing what complications might 
arise if, as was most probable, Bertha herself were artful and ambi- 
tious. And so, for no reason whatever except her own petty jealousy, 
she conceived a most unreasonable dislike for the girl ; and when Mrs. 
Haynes was unreasonable she sometimes was guilty of acts of which 
she was afterwards ashamed. 

Arrived at the hotel, which the ’bus had reached before her, she 
said to Bertha, who was standing near the door, “ Take your mistress’s 
bag and shawl up to the third floor, No. — , and wait there for us.” 

Bertha knew it was Celine’s place to do this, but that demoiselle, 
who thus far had not proved the treasure she was represented to be, 
had found an acquaintance, to whom she was talking so volubly that 
she did not observe the entrance of her party until Bertha was half- 
way up the three flights of stairs, with Mrs. Hallam’s bag and wrap 
as well as her own. The service at the Splendide was not the best, 
and those who would wait upon themselves were welcome to do so. 
Bertha toiled on with her arms full, while Mrs. Hallam and Mrs. 
Haynes took the little coop of a lift and ascended very leisurely. 

“ This is your room. I hope you will like it,” Mrs. Haynes said, 
stopping at the open door of a large, airy room, with a broad window 
opening upon a balcony, where a comfortable easy-chair was standing. 
Mrs. Hallam sank into it at once, admiring the view and pleased with 
everything. The clerk at the office had handed her a letter which had 
Vol. LIY.— 49 


770 


MRS. HALLAM 'S COMPANION. 


come in the morning mail. It was from Rex, and was full of his visit 
to the Homestead, the kindness he had received from Mr. Leighton and 
Dorcas, and the discovery lie had made with regard to Bertha. 

“I wonder you didn’t tell me on the ship that I was right and you 
wrong,” he wrote. “You did say, though, that she was high and 
mighty, and I told you to sit on her. But don’t you do it ! She is a 
lady by birth and education, and I want you to treat her kindly and 
not let Mrs. Haynes bamboozle you into snubbing her because she is 
your companion. I shan’t like it if you do, for it will be an insult to 
the Leightons and a shame to us.” Then he added, “At the hotel in 
Worcester I fell in with a fellow who claimed to be a fortieth cousin 
of yours, Phineas Jones. Do you remember him ? Great character. 
Called you Cousin Lucy Ann, — said you spelled him down at a spelling- 
match on the word ‘ dammed,’ and that he was going to call when you 
got home. I didn’t give him our address.” 

After reading this the view from the balcony did not look so 
charming or the sunlight so bright, and there was a shadow on Mrs. 
Hallam’s face, caused not so much by what Rex had written of the 
Homestead as by his encounter with Phineas Jones, her abomination. 
Why had he, of all possible persons, turned up? And what else had 
he told Rex of her besides the spelling episode ? Everything, probably, 
and more than everything, for she remembered well Phineas’s loquacity, 
which sometimes carried him into fiction. And he talked of calling 
upon her, too! “The wretch!” she said, crushing the letter in her 
hands, as she would have liked to crush the offending Phineas. 

“No bad news, I hope?” Mrs. Haynes said, stepping upon the 
balcony and noting the change in her friend’s expression. 

Mrs. Hallam, who would have died sooner than tell of Phineas 
Jones, answered, “ Oh, no. Rex has been to the Homestead and found 
out about Bertha, over whom he is wilder than ever, saying I must be 
kind to her and all that; as if I would be anything else.” 

“ Hm ; yes,” Mrs. Haynes replied, an expression which always 
meant a great deal with her, and which in this case meant a greater 
dislike to Bertha and a firmer resolve to humiliate her. 

It was beginning to grow dark by this time. Re-entering her room, 
Mrs. Hallam asked, “Where is Celine? I want her to open my trunk 
and get out a cooler dress ; this is so hot and dusty.” 

But Celine was not forthcoming, and Bertha was summoned in her 
place. At the Metropole Bertha had occupied a stuffy little room 
looking into a court, while at the Grand in Paris she had slept in what 
she called a closet, so that now she felt as if in Paradise when she took 
possession of her room, which, if small and at the rear, looked out 
upon grass and flowers and the tall hills which encircle Aix on all sides. 

“ This is delightful,” she thought, as she leaned from the window 
inhaling the perfume of the flowers and drinking in the sweet, pure 
air which swept down the green hill-side, where vines and fruits were 
growing. She, too, had found a letter waiting for her from Dorcas, 
who detailed every particular of Reginald’s visit to the Homestead, 
dwelling at some length upon his evident admiration of Bertha’s pho- 
tograph and his desire to have it. 


MRS. HALL AM'S COMPANION. 


771 


“ I don’t pretend to have your psychological presentiments,” Dorcas 
wrote, “ but if I had I should say that Mr. Hallam would admire you 
when he sees you quite as much as he did your picture, and I know 
you will like him. You cannot help it. He will join you before long.” 

Bertha knew better than Dorcas that she should like Rex Hallam, 
and something told her that her life after he came would be different 
from what it was now. For Mrs. Hallam she had but little respect, 
she was so thoroughly selfish and exacting, but she did not dislike her 
with the dislike she had conceived in a moment for Mrs. Haynes, in 
whom she had intuitively recognized a foe, who would tyrannize over 
and humiliate her worse than her employer. During her climb up- 
stairs she had resolved upon her course of conduct towards the lady 
should she attempt to browbeat her. 

“ I will do my best to please Mrs. Hallam, but I will not be sub- 
ject to that woman,” she thought, just as some one knocked, and in 
response to her “ Come in,” Mrs. Haynes appeared, saying, “ Leighton, 
Mrs. Hallam wants you.” 

“ Madam, if you are speaking to me, I am Miss Leighton ,” Bertha 
said, while her eyes flashed so angrily that for a moment Mrs. Haynes 
lost her self-command and stammered an apology, saying she was so 
accustomed to hearing the English employees called by their last names 
that she had inadvertently acquired the habit. 

There was a haughty inclination of Bertha’s head in token that she 
accepted the apology, and then the two, between whom there was now 
war, went to Mrs. Hallam’s room, where Bertha unlocked a trunk and 
took out a fresher dress. While she was doing this Mrs. Hallam again 
stepped out upon the balcony with Mrs. Haynes, who said, “ It is too 
late for table-d’hdte , but I have ordered a nice little extra dinner for 
you and me, to be served in our salon. I thought you’d like it better 
there the first night. Grace has dined and gone to the Casino with a 
party of English, who have rooms under us. The king is to be there.” 

“ Do you know him well?” Mrs. Hallam asked, pleased at the 
possibility of hobnobbing with royalty. 

“ Ye-es — no-o. Well, he has bowed to me, but I have not exactly 
spoken to him yet,” was Mrs. Haynes’s reply, and then she went on 
hurriedly, “I have engaged seats for lunch and dinner for you, Grace, 
and myself in the salle-a-manger near Lady Gresham’s party, and also 
a small table in a corner of the breakfast-room where we can be quite 
private and take our coffee together when you do not care to have it in 
your salon. Grace insists upon going down in the morning, and of 
course I must go with her.” 

“ You are very kind,” Mrs. Hallam said, thinking how nice it was 
to have all care taken from her, while Mrs. Haynes continued, “ Your 
servants take their meals in the servants’ hall. Celine will naturally 
prefer to sit with her own people, and if you like I will arrange to have 
places reserved with the English for your courier and — and ” 

She hesitated a little, until Mrs. Hallam said, in some surprise, 
“ Do you mean Miss Leighton ?” 

Then she went on, “ Yes, the courier and Miss Leighton ; he seems 
a very respectable man, — quite superior to his class.” 


772 


MRS. HALL A M'S COMPANION. 


Here was a turn in affairs for which even Mrs. Hallam was not 
prepared. Heretofore Bertha had taken her meals with her, nor had 
she thought of a change ; but if Mrs. Walker Haynes saw fit to make 
one, it must be right. Still, there was Rex to be considered. Would 
he think this was treating Bertha as she should be treated? She was 
afraid not, and she said, hesitatingly, “ Yes, but I am not sure Regi- 
nald would like it.” 

“ What has he to do with it, pray?” Mrs. Haynes asked, quickly. 

Mrs. Hallam replied, “ Her family was very nice to him, and you 
know he wrote me to treat her kindly; he says she is a lady by birth 
and education. I don’t think he would like to find her in the servants’ 
hall.” 

This was the first sign of rebellion Mrs. Haynes had ever seen in 
her friend, and she met it promptly. 

“ I do not see how you can do differently, if you adhere to the 
customs of those with whom you wish to associate. Several English 
families have had companions, or governesses, or seamstresses, or some- 
thing, and they have always gone to the servants’ hall. Lady Gresham 
has one there now. Miss Leighton may be all Reginald thinks she is, 
but if she puts herself in the position of an employee she must expect 
an employee’s fare, and not thrust herself upon first-class people. You 
will only pay second-class for her if she goes there.” 

Lady Gresham and the English and paying second-class were in- 
fluencing Mrs. Hallam mightily, but a dread of Rex, who when roused 
in the cause of oppression would not be pleasant to meet, kept her 
hesitating, until Bertha herself settled the matter. She had heard the 
conversation, although it had been carried on in low tones and some- 
times in whispers. At first she was furious and resolved that rather 
than submit to this indignity she would give up her position and go 
home ; then, remembering what Mrs. Hallam had said of Reginald, 
who was sure to be angry if he found her thus humiliated, she began to 
change her mind. 

“ I’ll do it,” she thought, while the absurdity of the thing grew 
upon her so fast that it began at last to look like a huge joke which 
she might perhaps enjoy. Going to the door, she said, while a proud 
smile played over her face, “ Ladies, I could not help hearing what 
you said, and as Mrs. Hallam seems undecided in the matter I will 
decide for her, and go to the servants’ hall, which I prefer. I have 
tried first-class people, and would like a chance to try the second.” 

She looked like a young queen as she stood in the door- way, her 
eyes sparkling and her cheeks glowing with excitement, and Mrs. 
Haynes felt that for once she had met a foe worthy of her. 

“ Yes, that will be best, and I dare say you will find it very com- 
fortable,” Mrs. Hallam said, admiring the girl as she had never admired 
her before, and thinking that before Rex came she would manage to 
make a change. 

That night, however, she had Bertha’s dinner sent to her room, and 
also made arrangements to have her coffee served there in the morning, 
so it was not until lunch that she had her first experience as second- 
class. The hall, which was not used for the servants of the house, 


MRS. HALL AM’S COMPANION. 


773 


who had their meals elsewhere, was a long room on the ground-floor, 
and there she found assembled a mixed company of nurses, maids, 
couriers, and valets, all talking together in a babel of tongues, English, 
French, German, Italian, Russian, and Greek, and all so earnest that 
they did not see the graceful young woman who, with a heightened 
color and eyes which shone like stars as they took in the scene, walked 
to the only vacant seat she saw, which was evidently intended for her, 
as it was next the courier Browne. But when they did see her they 
became as silent as if the king himself had come into their midst, while 
Browne rose to his feet, and with a respectful bow held her chair for 
her until she was seated, and then asked what he should order for her. 
Browne, who was a respectable middle-aged man and had travelled ex- 
tensively with both English and Americans^ had seen that Bertha was 
superior to her employer, and had shown her many little attentions in 
a respectful way. He had heard from Celine that she was coming to 
the second salon, and resented it more, if possible, than Bertha herself, 
resolving to constitute himself her protector and shield her from every 
possible annoyance. This she saw at once, and smiled gratefully upon 
him. No one spoke to her, and silence reigned as she finished her 
lunch and then left the room with a bow in which all felt they were 
included. 

“ By Jove, Browne, who is that person, and how came she here ? 
She looks like a lady/’ asked an English valet, while two or three 
Frenchmen nearly lost their balance with their fierce gesticulations, as 
they clamored to know who the grande mademoiselle was. 

Striking his fist upon the table to enforce silence, Browne said, 
“ She is a Miss Leighton, from America, and far more a lady than many 
of the bediamonded and besatined trash above us. She is in my party 
as madam’s companion, and whoever is guilty of the least impertinence 
towards her in word or look will answer for it to me ; to me, do you 
understand ?” And he turned fiercely towards a wicked-looking little 
Frenchman, whose bad eyes had rested too boldly and too admiringly 
upon the girl. 

“ Mon Dieu, oui , oui , oui. Je comprends ,” the man replied, and 
then in broken English asked, “Why comes she here, if she be a 
lady?” 

It was Celine who answered for Browne : “ Because her mistress is 
a cat, a nasty old cat — as the English say. And there’s a pair of them. 
I heard them last night saying she must be put down, and they have 1 
put her down here. I hate them, and mine most of all. She tries to 
get me cheap. She keeps me fly-fly. She gives me no pourboires. 
She sleeps me in a dog-kennel. Bah ! I stay not, if good chance 
come. L’ Americaine hundred times more lady.” 

This voluble speech, which was interpreted by one to another until 
all had a tolerably correct idea of it, did not diminish the interest in 
Bertha, to whom after this every possible respect was paid, the men 
always rising with Browne when she entered the dining-hall and re- 
maining standing until she was seated. Bertha was human, and such 
homage could not help pleasing her, although it came from those whose 
language she could not understand, and who by birth and education 


774 


MRS. II ALL AM'S COMPANION. 


were greatly her inferiors. It was something to be the object of so 
much respect, and when, warmed by the bright smile she always gave 
them, the Greeks, and the Russians, and the Italians, not only rose 
when she entered the hall, but also when she passed them outside, if 
they chanced to be sitting, she felt that her life had some compensations, 
if it were one of drudgery and menial service. 

True to her threat, Celine left when a more desirable situation 
offered, and Mrs. Hallam did not fill her place. “No need of it, so 
long as you have Miss Leighton and pay her what you do,” Mrs. 
Haynes said ; and so it came about that Bertha found herself companion 
in name only and waiting-maid in earnest, walking demurely by the 
covered chair which each morning took Mrs. Hallam to her bath, 
combing that lady’s hair, mending and brushing her clothes, carrying 
messages, doing far more than Celine had done, and doing it so un- 
complainingly that both Mrs. Hallam and Mrs. Haynes wondered at 
her. At last, however, when asked to accompany Mrs. Haynes to the 
bath, she rebelled. To serve her in that way was impossible, and she 
answered civilly, but decidedly, “No, Mrs. Hallam. I have done and 
will do whatever you require for yourself, but for Mrs. Haynes nothing. 
She never spares an opportunity to humiliate me. I will not attend 
her to her bath. I will give up my place first.” That settled it, and 
Bertha was never again asked to wait upon Mrs. Haynes. 


CHAPTER XI. 

GRACE HAYNES. 

“Bravo, Miss Leighton! I did not suppose there was so much 
spirit in you, when I have seen you darning madam’s stockings and 
buttoning her boots. You are a brick, and positively I admire you. 
Neither mamma nor Mrs. Hallam needs any one to go with them, any 
more than the sea needs water. But it is English, you know, to have 
an attendant, and such an attendant, too, as you. Yes, I admire you ! 
I respect you ! Our door was open, and I heard what you said ; so did 
mamma, and she is furious ; but I am glad to see one woman assert her 
rights.” 

It was Grace Haynes, who, coming from her bedroom, joined 
Bertha as she was walking rapidly down the hall and said all this to 
her. Bertha had been nearly two weeks at Aix, and, although she had 
scarcely exchanged a word with Grace, she had often seen her, and, re- 
membering what Mrs. Hallam had said of her and Reginald, had looked 
at her rather critically. She was very thin and wiry, with a pale 
face, yellow hair worn short, large blue eyes, and a nose inclined to an 
upward curve. She was a kind-hearted, good-natured girl, of a pro- 
nounced type both in dress and manner and speech. She believed in a 
little slang, she said, because it gave a point to conversation, and she 
adored baccarat and rouge-et-noir, and a lot more things which her 
mother thought highly improper. She had heard all that her mother 
said of Bertha, and, quick to discriminate, she had seen how infinitely 
superior she was to Mrs. Hallam, and had felt drawn to her, but was too 


MRS. HALL AM'S COMPANION. 


775 


much absorbed in her own matters to have any time for a stranger. She 
was a natural flirt, and, although so plain, always managed to have, 
as she said, two or three idiots dangling on her string. Just now it 
was a young Englishman, the grandson of old Lady Gresham, whom 
she had upon her string, greatly to the disgust of her mother, with 
whom she was not often in perfect accord. 

Linking her arm in Bertha’s as they went down the stairs, she con- 
tinued, “ Are you going to walk? I am, up the hill. Come with me. 
I’ve been dying to talk to you ever since you came, but have been so 
engaged, and you are always so busy with madam since Celine went 
away. Good pious work you must find it waiting on madam and 
mamma both ! I don’t see how you do it so sweetly. You must have 
a great deal of what they call inward and spiritual grace. I wish you’d 
give me some.” 

Grace was the first girl of her own age and nation who had spoken 
to Bertha since she left America, and she responded readily to the 
friendly advance. 

“ I don’t believe I have any inward and spiritual grace to spare,” 
she said. “ I only do what I hired out to do. You know I must earn 
my wages.” 

“ Yes,” Grace answered, “ 1 know, and I wish I could earn wages, 
too. It would be infinitely more respectable than the way we get our 
money.” 

“How do you get it?” Bertha asked, and Grace replied, “Don’t 
you know? You have certainly heard of high-born English dames 
who, for a consideration, undertake to hoist ambitious Americans into 
society ?” 

Bertha had heard of such things, and Grace continued, “Well, that 
is what mamma does at home on a smaller scale ; and she succeeds, too. 
Everybody knows Mrs. Walker Haynes, with blood so blue that indigo 
is pale beside it, and if she pulls a string for a puppet to dance, all the 
other puppets dance in unison. Sometimes she chaperons a party of 
young ladies, but, as these give her a good deal of trouble, she prefers 
people like Mrs. Hallam, who, without her, would never get into 
society. Society ! I hate the word, with all it involves. Do you see 
that colt over there?” and she pointed to a young horse in an adjoin- 
ing field. “ Well, I am like that colt, kicking up its heels in a perfect 
abandon of freedom. But harness it to a cart, with thills and lines 
and straps and reins, and [then apply the whip, won’t it rebel with all 
its might? And if it gets its feet over the traces and breaks in the 
dash-board, who can blame it? I’m just like that colt. I hate that 
old go-giggle called society, which says you mustn’t do this and you 
must do that because it is or is not proper and Mrs. Grundy would be 
shocked. I like to shock her, and I’d rather take boarders than live 
as we do now. I’d do anything to earn money. That’s why I play at 
baccarat.” 

“Baccarat!” Bertha repeated, with a little start. 

“Yes, baccarat. Don’t try to pull away from me. I felt you,” 
Grace said, holding Bertha "closer by the arm. “You are Massachu- 
setts born and have a lot of Massachusetts notions, of course, and I 


776 


MRS. HALL AM'S COMPANION. 


respect you for it, but I am bohemian through and through. Wasn’t 
born anywhere in particular, and have been in your so-called first 
society all my life and detest it. We have a little income, and could 
live in the country with one servant comfortably, as so many people 
do; but that would not suit mamma, and so we go from pillar to post 
and live on other people, until I am ashamed. I am successful at 
baccarat. They say the old gent who tempted Eve helps new begin- 
ners at cards, and I believe he helps me, I win so often. I know it 
isn’t good form, but what can I do? If I don’t play baccarat there’s 
nothing left for me but to marry, and that I never shall.” 

“ Why not ?” Bertha asked, becoming more and more interested in 
the strange girl talking so confidentially to her. 

u Why not?” Grace repeated. “ That shows that you are not in it, 
— the swim, I mean. Don’t you know that few young men nowadays 
can afford to marry a poor girl and support her in her extravagance 
and laziness? She must have money to get any kind of a show, and 
that I haven’t, — nor beauty either, like you, whose face is worth a for- 
tune. Don’t say it isn’t : don’t fib,” she continued, as Bertha tried to 
speak. “ You know you are beautiful, with a grande-duchesse air 
which makes everybody turn to look at you, even the king. I saw 
him, and I’ve seen those Russians and Greeks, who are here with some 
high cockalorums, take off their hats when you came near them. 
Celine told me how they all stand up when you enter the salle-d- 
manger. I call that genuine homage, which I’d give a good deal to 
have.” 

She had let go Bertha’s arm and was walking a little in advance, 
when she stopped suddenly, and, turning round, said, “I wonder what 
you will think of Rex Hallam.” 

Bertha made no reply, and she went on : “ I know I am talking 
queerly, but I must let myself out to some one. Rex is coming before 
long, and you will know then, if you don’t now, that mamma is 
moving heaven and earth to make a match between us ; but she never 
will. I am not his style, and he is far more likely to marry you than 
me. I have known him for years, and could get up a real liking for 
him if it would be of any use, but it wouldn’t. He doesn’t want a 
washed-out, yellow-haired girl like me. Nobody does, unless it’s Jack 
Travis, old Lady Gresham’s grandson, with no prospects and only a 
hundred pounds a year and an orange grove in Florida, which he 
never saw, and which yields nothing, for want of proper attention. 
He says he would like to go out there and rough it ; that he does not 
like being tied to his grandmother’s apron-strings; and that, give him 
a chance, he would gladly work. I have two hundred dollars a year 
more. Do you think we could live on that and the climate?” 

They had been retracing their steps, and were by this time near the 
hotel, where they met the young Englishman in question, evidently 
looking for Miss Haynes. He was a shambling, loose-jointed young 
man, but he had a good face, and there was a ring in his voice which 
Bertha liked, as he spoke first to Grace and then to herself, as Grace 
presented him to her. Knowing that as a third party she was in the 
way, Bertha left them and went into the hotel, while they went down 


MRS. FI ALL A M'S COMPANION. 


777 


into the town, where they stayed so long that Lady Gresham and Mrs. 
Haynes began to get anxious as to their whereabouts. Both ladies 
knew of the intimacy growing up between the young people, and both 
heartily disapproved of it. Under some circumstances Mrs. Haynes 
would have been delighted to have for a son-in-law Lady Gresham’s 
grandson. But she prized money more than a title, and one hundred 
pounds a year with a doubtful orange grove in Florida did not com- 
mend themselves to her, while Lady Gresham, although very gracious 
to Mrs. Haynes, because it was not in her nature to be otherwise to 
any one, did not like the fast American girl, who wore her hair short, 
carried her hands in her pockets like a man, and believed in women’s 
rights. If Jack were insane enough to marry her she would wash her 
hands of him and send him off to that orange grove he said he wanted to 
go to, where she had heard there was a little dilapidated house in which 
he could try to live on the climate and one hundred a year. Some 
such thoughts as these were passing through Lady Gresham’s mind, 
while Mrs. Haynes was thinking of Grace’s perversity in encouraging 
young Travis, and of Reginald Hallam, from whom Mrs. Hallara had 
that morning had a letter and who was coming to Aix earlier than 
he had intended doing. Nearly all his friends were out of town, he 
wrote, and the house was so lonely without his aunt that she might 
expect him within two or three weeks at the farthest. He did not say 
what steamer he should take, but, as ten days had elapsed since his 
letter was written, Mrs. Hallam said she should not be surprised to see 
him at any time, and her face wore an air of pleased expectancy at the 
prospect of having Rex with her once more. But a thought of Bertha 
brought a cloud upon it at once. She had intended removing her from 
the second-class salle-a-manger before Rex came, but did not know 
how to manage it. 

“ The girl seems contented enough,” she thought, “ and I hear has 
a great deal of attention there, — in fact, is quite like a queen among 
her subjects ; so I guess I’ll let it run, and if Rex flares up I’ll trust 
Mrs. Haynes to help me out of it, as she got me into it.” 


CHAPTER XII. 

THE NIGHT OF THE OPERA. 

It was getting rather dull at the Hotel Splendide. The novelty of 
having a king in their midst, who went about unattended in citizen’s 
dress, and bowed to all who looked as if they wished him to bow to 
them, was wearing off, and he could go in and out as often as he liked 
without being followed or stared at. The grande duchesse, too, whose 
apartments were screened from the great unwashed, had had her Sun- 
day dinner-party, with scions of French royalty in the Bourbon line 
for her guests, and a band of music outside. The woman from Chi- 
cago, who had flirted so outrageously with her eyes with the Russian, 
while his little wife sat by smiling placidly and suspecting no evil 
because the Chicagoan professed to speak no language but English, of 
which her husband did not understand a word, had departed for other 


778 


MRS. HAL LAM'S COMPANION. 


fields. The French count, who had beaten his American bride of 
three weeks’ standing, had also gone, and the hotel had subsided into 
a state of great respectability and circumspection. 

u Positively we are stagnating, with nothing to gossip about except 
Jack and myself, and nothing going on in town,” Grace Haynes said 
to Bertha, with whom she continued on the most friendly terms. 

But the stagnation came to an end and the town woke up when it 
was known that Miss Sanderson from San Francisco was to appear in 
opera at the Casino. Everybody had heard of the young prima donna, 
and all were anxious to see her. Mrs. Hallam took a box for Mrs. 
Haynes, Grace, and herself, but, although there was plenty of room, 
Bertha was not included in the party. Nearly all the guests were 
going from the third floor, which would thus be left entirely to the 
servants, and Mrs. Hallam, who was always suspecting foreigners of 
pilfering from her, did not dare leave her rooms alone, so Bertha must 
stay and watch them. She had done this before when Mrs. Hallam 
was at the Casino, but to-night it seemed particularly hard, as she 
wished to see Miss Sanderson so much that she would willingly have 
stood in the rear seats near the door, where a crowd always congregated. 
But there was no help for it, and after seeing Mrs. Hallam and her 
party off she went into the salon, and, taking an easy-chair and a book, 
sat down to enjoy the quiet and the rest. She was very tired, for Mrs. 
Hallam had kept her unusually busy that day, arranging the dress she 
was going to wear and sending her twice down the long, steep hill into 
the town in quest of something needed for her toilet. It was very 
still in and around the hotel, and at last, overcome by fatigue and 
drowsiness, Bertha’s book dropped into her lap and she fell asleep with 
her head thrown back against the cushioned chair and one hand resting 
on its arm. Had she tried, she could not have chosen a more graceful 
position, or one which showed her face and figure to better advantage, 
and so thought Rex Hallam, when, fifteen or twenty minutes later, he 
stepped into the room and stood looking at her. 

Ever since his visit to the Homestead he had found his thoughts 
constantly turning towards Aix-les-Baius, and had made up his mind 
to go on a certain ship, when he accidentally met Fred Thurston, who 
was stopping in New York for two or three days before sailing. There 
was an invitation to dinner at the Windsor, and as a result Rex packed 
his trunk, and, securing a vacant berth, sailed for Havre with the 
Thurstons a week earlier than he had expected to sail. Fred was sick 
all the voyage and kept his berth, but Louie seemed perfectly well, and 
had never been so happy, since she was a child playing with Rex under 
the magnolias in Florida, as she was now, walking and talking with 
him upon the deck, where, with her piquant, childish beauty, she at- 
tracted a great deal of attention and provoked some comment from the 
censorious when it was known that she had a husband sick in his berth. 
But Louie was guiltless of any intentional wrong-doing. She had said 
to Bertha in Boston that she believed Fred was going to die, he was so 
good ; and, with a few exceptions, when the Hyde nature was in the 
ascendant, he had kept good ever since. He had urged Rex’s going 
with them quite as strongly as Louie, and when he found himself un- 


MRS. HALL A M'S COMPANION. 


17 \) 


able to stay on deck he had bidden Louie go and enjoy herself, saying, 
however, “ I know what a flirt you are, but I can trust Rex Hal lam, 
on whom your doll beauty has never made an impression and never 
will : so go and be happy with him.” 

This was not a pleasant thing to say, but it was like Fred Thurston 
to say it, and he looked curiously at Louie to see how it would affect 
her. There was a flush on her face for a moment, while the tears 
sprang to her eyes. But she was of too sunny a disposition to be mis- 
erable long, and, thinking to herself, “ Just for this one week I will 
be happy,” she tied on her pretty sea-cloak and hood, went on deck, 
and was happy as a child when something it has lost and mourned is 
found again. At Paris they separated, the Thurstons going on to 
Switzerland, and Rex to Aix-les-Bains, laden with messages of love for 
Bertha, who had been the principal subject of Louie’s talk during 
the voyage. In a burst of confidence Rex had told her of Rose Ara- 
bella Jefferson’s photograph, and Louie had laughed merrily over the 
mistake, saying, “ You will find Bertha handsomer than her picture. 

I think you will fall in love with her; and — if — you — do ” she 

spoke the last words very slowly, while shadow after shadow flitted 
over her face as if she were fighting some battle with herself; then, 
with a bright smile, she added, “ I shall be glad.” 

Rex’s journey from Paris to Aix was accomplished without any 
worse mishap than a detention of the train for three hours or more, so 
that it was not until his aunt had been gone some time that he reached the 
hotel, where he was told that Mrs. Ilallam and party were at the Casino. 

“ I suppose she has a salon. I will go there and wait till she re- 
turns,” Rex said, and then followed a servant up-stairs and along the 
hall in the direction of the salon. . 

He had expected to find it locked, and was rather surprised when 
he saw the open door and the light inside, and still more surprised as 
he entered the room to find a young lady so fast asleep that his coming 
did not disturb her. He recognized her at once, and for a moment 
stood looking at her admiringly, noting every point of beauty from the 
long lashes shading her cheeks to the white hand resting upon the arm 
of the chair. 

“ Phineas was right. She is handsome as blazes, but I don’t think 
it is quite the thing for me to stand staring at her this way. It is 
taking an unfair advantage of her. I must present myself properly,” 
he thought, and, stepping into the hall, he knocked rather loudly upon 
the door. 

Bertha awoke with a start and sprang to her feet in some alarm 
as, in response to her “ Entrez,” a tall young man stepped into the room 
and stood confronting her with a good deal of assurance. 

“ You must have made a mistake, sir. This is Mrs. Hallam’s 
salon,” she said, rather haughtily, while Rex replied, “ Yes, I know it. 
Mrs. Hal lam is my aunt, and you must be Miss Leighton.” 

“ Oh !” Bertha exclaimed, her attitude changing at once, as she 
recognized the stranger. “ Your aunt is expecting you, but not quite so 
soon. She will be very sorry not to have been here to meet you. She 
has gone to the opera. Miss Sanderson is in town.” 


780 


MRS. HALL AM'S COMPANION. 


“So they told me at the office,” Rex said, explaining that he had 
crossed a little sooner than he had intended, but did not telegraph his 
aunt, as he wished to surprise her. He then added, “ I am too late for 
dinner, but I suppose I can have my supper up here, which will be 
better than climbing the three flights of stairs again. That scoop of 
an elevator has gone ashore for repairs, and I had to walk up.” 

Ringing the bell, he ordered his supper, while Bertha started to 
leave the salon, saying she hoped he would make himself comfortable 
until his aunt returned. 

“ Don’t go,” he said, stepping between her and the door to detain 
her. “Stay and keep me company. I have been shut up in a close 
railway carriage all day with French and Germans, and am dying to 
talk to some one who speaks English.” 

He made her sit down in the chair from which she had risen when 
he came in, and, drawing another near to her, said, “ You do not seem 
like a stranger, but rather like an old acquaintance. Why, for a whole 
week I have heard of little else but you.” 

“ Of me !” Bertha said, in surprise. 

He replied, “ I crossed with Mr. and Mrs. Fred Thurston. She, I 
believe, is your cousin, and was never tired of talking of you, and has 
sent more love to you than one man ought to carry for some one else.” 

“ Cousin Louie ! Yes, I knew she was coming about this time. 
And you crossed with her?” Bertha said. She plied him with ques- 
tions, thinking what a fine-looking man he was, while there came to 
her mind what Louie had said of his graciousness of manner, which 
made every woman think she was especially pleasing to him, whether 
she were old or young, pretty or plain, rich or poor. He talked so 
easily and pleasantly and familiarly that it was difficult to think of 
him as a stranger, and she was not sorry that he had bidden her stay. 

When supper was on the table he looked it over a moment, and 
then said to the waiter, “ Bring dishes and napkins for two ;” then to 
Bertha, “If I remember the table- d’hotes' abroad, they are not of a 
nature to make one refuse supper at ten o’clock: so I hope you are 
ready to join me.” 

Here was a most unexpected turn of affairs, which Bertha hardly 
knew how to meet. She had been treated as second-class so long that 
she had almost come to believe she was second-class, and the idea of 
sitting down to supper with Rex Hal lam in his aunt’s salon took her 
breath away. 

“ Don’t refuse,” he continued. “ It will be so much jollier than 
eating alone, and I want you to pour my coffee.” 

He brought her a chair, and before she realized what she was doing 
she found herself sitting opposite him quite en famille , and chatting as 
familiarly as if she had known him all her life. He told her of his 
visit to the Homestead, his drive with Dorcas, and his meeting with 
Phineas Jones, over which she laughed merrily, feeling that America 
was not nearly so far away as it had seemed before he came. When 
supper was over and the table cleared, he began to talk of books and 
pictures, finding that as a rule they liked the same authors and admired 
the same artists. 


MRS. HALL AM'S COMPANION. 781 

“ By the way,” he said, suddenly, “ why are you not at the opera 
with my aunt? Are you not fond of music?” 

“ Yes, very,” Bertha replied, “ but some one must stay with the 
rooms. Mrs. Hallam is afraid to leave them alone.” 

“ Ah, yes. I see. Afraid somebody will steal her diamonds, 
which she keeps doubly and trebly locked, first in a padded box, then 
in her trunk, and last in her room. Well, I am glad for my sake 
that you didn’t go. But isn’t it rather close up here? Suppose we 
go down. It’s a glorious moonlight night, and there must be a piazza 
somewhere.” 

Bertha thought of the broad vine-wreathed piazza, with its easy- 
chairs, where it would be delightful to sit with Reginald Hallam, but 
she must not leave her post, and she said so. 

“ Oh, I see ; another case of the boy on the burning deck,” Bex 
said, laughingly. “ I suppose you are right; but I never had much 
patience with that boy. I shouldn’t have stayed till I was blown 
higher than a kite, but should have run with the first sniff of fire. 
You think I’d better go down? Not a bit of it; if you stay here, I 
shall. It can’t be long- now before they come. Zounds ! I beg your 
pardon. Until I said they , I had forgotten to inquire for Mrs. Haynes 
and Grace. They are well, I suppose, and with my aunt ?” 

Bertha said they were, and Rex continued, “ Grace and I are 
great friends. She’s a little peculiar, — wants to vote, and all that sort 
of thing, — but I like her immensely.” 

Then he talked on indifferent subjects until Mrs. Hallam was heard 
coming along the hall, panting and talking loudly, and evidently out 
of humor. The elevator, which Rex said had been drawn off for re- 
pairs, was still off, and she had been obliged to walk up the stairs, and 
didn’t like it. Bertha had risen to her feet as soon as she heard her 
voice, while Rex, too, rose and stood behind her in the shadow, so his 
aunt did not see him as she entered the room, and, sinking into the 
nearest chair, said, irritably, “ Hurry and help me off with my things. 
I’m half dead. Whew! Isn’t that lamp smoking? How it smells 
here ! Open another window. The lift is not running, and I had to 
walk up the stairs.” 

“I knew it stopped earlier in the evening, but supposed it was 
running now. I am very sorry,” Bertha said, and Mrs. Hallam con- 
tinued, “ You ought to have found out and been down there to help 
me up.” 

“ I didn’t come any too soon,” Rex thought, stepping out from the 
shadow, and saying, in his cheery voice, “ Halloo, auntie ! All tuckered 
out, aren’t you, with those horrible stairs ! I tried them, and they took 
the wind out of me.” 

“ Oh, Rex, Rex !” Mrs. Hallam cried, throwing her arms around 
the tall young man, who bent over her and returned her caresses, while 
he explained that he did not telegraph, as he wished to surprise her, 
and that he had reached the hotel half an hour or so after she left it. 

“ Why didn’t you come at once to the Casino ? There was plenty 
of room in our box, and you must have been so dull here.” 

He replied, “ Not at all dull, with Miss Leighton for company. I 


782 


MRS. HALL AM'S COMPANION . 


ordered my supper up here and had her join me. So you see I have 
made myself quite at home.” 

“ I see,” Mrs. Hal lam said, with a tone in her voice and a shutting 
together of her lips which Bertha understood perfectly. 

She had gathered up Mrs. Hallam’s mantle and bonnet and opera- 
glass and fan and gloves by this time ; and, knowing she was no longer 
needed, she left the room just as Mrs. Haynes and Grace, who had 
heard Rex’s voice, entered it. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

AFTER THE OPERA. 

The ladies slept late the next morning, and Rex breakfasted alone 
and then went to the salon to meet his aunt, as he had promised to do 
the night before. It was rather tiresome waiting, and he found himself 
wishing Bertha would come in, and wondering where she was. As 
a young man of position and wealth and unexceptionable habits, he 
was a general favorite with the ladies, and many a mother would 
gladly have captured him for her daughter, while the daughter would 
not have said no if asked to be his wife. This he knew perfectly well, 
but, he said, the daughters didn’t fill the bill. He wanted a real girl, 
not a made-up one, with powdered face, bleached hair, belladonna eyes, 
and all the obnoxious habits so fast stealing into the best society. 
Little Louie Thurston had touched his boyish fancy, and he admired 
her more than any other woman he had ever met ; Grace Haynes amused 
and interested him; but neither she nor Louie possessed the qualities 
with which he had endowed his ideal wife, who, he had come to believe, 
did not exist. Thus far everything connected with Bertha Leighton 
had interested him greatly, and the two hours he had spent alone with 
her had deepened that interest. She was beautiful, agreeable, and real, 
he believed, with something fresh and bright and original about her. 
Pie was anxious to see her again, and was thinking of going down to 
the piazza, hoping to find her there, when his aunt appeared, and for 
the next hour he sat with her, telling her of their friends in New York 
and of his visit to the Homestead, where he had been so hospitably 
entertained and made so many discoveries with regard to Bertha. 

“ She is a great favorite in Leicester,” he said, “ and I think you 
have a treasure.” 

“ Yes, she serves me very well,” Mrs. Hallam replied, and then 
changed the conversation just as Grace knocked at the door, saying she 
was going for a walk into town and asking if Rex would like to go 
with her. 

It was a long ramble they had together, while Grace told him 
of her acquaintances in Aix, and especially of the young Englishman, 
Jack Travis, and the Florida orange grove on which he had sunk a 
thousand dollars with no return. 

“ Tell him to quit sinking, and go and see to it himself,” Rex said. 
“ Living in England or at the North and sending money South to be 
used on a grove is much like a woman trying to keep house successfully 


MRS . HALL AM'S COMPANION. 


783 


by sitting in her chamber and issuing her orders through a speaking- 
tube, instead of going to the kitchen herself to see what is being done 
there.” 

Hex’s illustrations were rather peculiar, but they were sensible. 
Grace understood this one perfectly, and began to revolve in her mind 
the feasibility of advising Jack to go to Florida and attend to his 
business himself, instead of talking through a tube. Then she spoke 
of Bertha, and was at once conscious of an air of increased interest 
in Reginald, as she told him how much she liked the girl and how 
strangely he seemed to be mixed up with her. 

“ You see, Mrs. Hallarn tells mamma everything, and so I know 
all about Rose Arabella Jefferson’s picture. I nearly fell out of my 
chair when I heard about it ; and I know, too, about your knocking 
Miss Leighton down on the Teutonic ” 

“Wha-at!” Rex exclaimed: “ was that Ber — Miss Leighton, I 
mean !” 

“ Certainly that was Bertha. You may as well call her that when 
with me,” Grace replied. “ I knew” you would admire her. You can’t 
help it. I am glad you have come, and I hope you will rectify a lot 
of things.” 

Rex looked at her inquiringly, but before he could ask what she 
meant they turned a corner and came upon Jack Travis, who joined 
them, and on hearing that Rex was from New York began to ask after 
his orange grove, as if he thought Reginald passed it daily on his way 
to his business. 

“ What a stupid you are!” Grace said. “Mr. Hallam never saw 
an orange grove in his life. Why, you could put three or four United 
Kingdoms into the space between New York and Florida.” 

“ Reely ! How very extraordinary !” the young Englishman said, 
utterly unable to comprehend the vastness of America, towards which 
he was beginning to turn his thoughts as a place where he might pos- 
sibly live on seven hundred dollars a year with Grace to manage it 
and him. 

When they reached the hotel it was lunch-time, and after a few 
touches to his toilet Rex started for the salle-ci-manger , thinking that 
now he should see Bertha, in whom he felt a still greater interest since 
learning that it was she to whom he had given the black eye on the 
Teutonic. “ The hand of fate is certainly in it,” he thought, without 
exactly knowing what the it referred to. Mrs. Hallam and Mrs. 
Haynes and Grace were already at the table when he entered the room 
and was shown to the only vacant seat, between his aunt and Grace. 

“ This must be Miss Leighton’s place,” he said, standing by the 
chair. “ I do not wish to keep her from her accustomed seat. Where 
is she ?” and he looked up and down both sides of the long table, but 
did not see her. “Where is she?” he asked again, and his aunt re- 
plied, “She is not coming to-day. Sit down, and I will explain after 
lunch.” 

“What is there to explain?” he thought, as he sat down and 
glanced first at his aunt’s worried face, then at Grace, and then at 
Mrs. Haynes. 


784 


MRS. HALL AM\S COMPANION. 


Then an idea occurred to him which almost made him jump from 
his chair. He said to Grace, “ Does Miss Leighton lunch in her 
room ?” 

“ Oh, no,” Grace replied. 

“ Doesn’t she come here ?” he persisted. 

“ Your aunt will explain. I would rather not,” Grace said. 

There was something wrong, Rex was sure, and he finished lunch 
before the others and left the salon just in time to see Bertha half-way 
up the second flight of stairs. Bounding up two steps at a time, he 
soon stood beside her, with his hand on her arm to help her up the 
next flight. 

“ I have not seen you this morning. Where have you kept your- 
self?” he asked, and she replied, “ I have been busy in your aunt’s 
room.” 

“ Where is her maid ?” was his next question, and Bertha answered, 
“ She has been gone some time.” 

“And you fill her place?” 

“ I do what Mrs. Hallam wishes me to.” 

“ Why were you not at lunch ?” 

“ I have been to lunch.” 

“ You have ! Where ?” 

“ Where I always take it.” 

“ And where is that ?” 

There was something in Rex’s voice and manner which told Bertha 
that he was not to be trifled with, and she replied, “ I take my meals 
in the servants’ hall, or rather with the maids and nurses and couriers. 
It is not bad when you are accustomed to it,” she added, as she saw 
the blackness on Reginald’s face and the wrath in his eyes. They had 
now reached the door of Mrs. Hallam’s room, and Mrs. Hallam was 
just leaving the elevator in company with Mrs. Haynes, who very 
wisely went into her own apartment and left her friend to meet the 
storm alone. 

And a fierce storm it was. At its close Mrs. Hallam was in tears, 
and Rex was striding up and down the salon like an enraged lion. 
Mrs. Hallam had tried to apologize and explain, telling how respectful 
all the couriers and valets were, how much less it cost, and that Mrs. 
Haynes said the English sent their companions there, and governesses 
too, sometimes. Rex did not care a picayune for what the English 
did ; he almost swore about Mrs. Haynes, whose handiwork he recog- 
nized ; he scorned the idea of its costing less, and said that unless 
Bertha were at once treated as an equal in every respect he would 
either leave the hotel or join her in the second-class salon and see for 
himself whether those rascally Russians and Turks and Frenchmen 
looked at her as they had no business to look. 

At this point Bertha, who had no suspicion of what was taking 
place in the salon, and who wished to speak to Mrs. Hallam, knocked 
at the door. Rex opened it with the intention of sending the intruder 
away, but when he saw Bertha he bade her come in, and, standing with 
his back against the door, went over the whole matter again and told 
her she was to join them at dinner. 


MRS. HALL AM’S COMPANION. 


785 


“ And if there is no place for you at my aunt’s end of the table 
there is at the other, and I shall sit there with you,” he said. 

He had settled everything satisfactorily, he thought, when a fresh 
difficulty arose with Bertha herself. She had listened in surprise to 
Rex, and smiled gratefully upon him through the tears she could not 
repress, but she said, “ I cannot tell you how much I thank you for 
your sympathy and kind intentions. But really I am not unhappy in 
the servants’ hall, nor have I received the slightest discourtesy. Browne, 
our courier, has stood between me and everything which might have 
been unpleasant, and I have quite a liking for my companions. And” 
— here her face hardened and her eyes grew very dark — “ nothing 
can induce me to join your party as you propose while Mrs. Haynes is 
in it. She has worried and insulted me from the moment she saw me. 
She suggested and urged my going to the servants’ hall against your 
aunt’s wishes, and has never let an opportunity pass to make me feel 
my subordinate position. I like Miss Haynes very much, but her 

mother ” there was a toss of Bertha’s head indicative of her 

opinion of the mother, an opinion which Rex fully shared, and if he 
could he would have turned Mrs. Haynes from the hotel bag and 
baggage. 

But this was impossible. He could neither dislodge her nor move 
Bertha from her decision, which he understood and respected. But he 
could take her and his aunt away from Aix and commence life under 
different auspices in some other place. He had promised to join a 
party of friends at Chamonix, and he would go there at once, and then 
find some quiet, restful place in Switzerland, from which excursions 
could be made and where his aunt could join him with Bertha. This 
was his plan, which met with Mrs. Hallam’s approval. She was getting 
a little tired of Aix, and a little tired, too, of Mrs. Haynes, who had not 
helped her into society as much as she had expected. Lady Gresham, 
though civil, evidently shunned the party, presumably because of Grace’s 
flirtation with Jack, while very few desirable people were on terms of 
intimacy with her, and the undesirable she would not notice. In fresh 
fields, however, with Rex, who took precedence everywhere, she should 
do better, and she was quite willing to go wherever and whenever he 
chose. That night at dinner she told Mrs. Haynes her plans, and that 
Rex was to leave the next day for Chamonix. 

“So soon? I am surprised, and sorry, too; Grace has anticipated 
your coming so much and planned so many more things to do when you 
came. She will be so disappointed. Can’t we persuade you to stop a 
few days at least?” Mrs. Haynes said, leaning "forward and looking at 
Rex with a very appealing face, while Grace stepped on her foot and 
whispered to her, “ For heaven’s sake, don’t throw me at Rex Hallam’s 
head, and make him more disgusted with us than he is already.” 

The next morning Rex brought his aunt a little black-eyed French 
girl, Elo’ise, whom he had found in town, and who had once or twice 
served in the capacity of maid. He had made the bargain with her 
himself, and such a bargain as he felt certain would insure her stay in 
his aunt’s service, no matter what was put upon her. He had also 
enumerated many of the duties the girl was expected to perform, and 
Vol. LIV.— 50 


786 


MRS. HALLAM J S COMPANION . 


among them was waiting upon Miss Leighton equally with his aunt. 
He laid great stress upon this, and, in order to insure Eloi'se’s respect 
for Bertha, he insisted that if the latter would not go to the same table 
with Mrs. Haynes she should take her meals in the salon. To this 
Bertha reluctantly consented. At dinner she found herself installed in 
solitary state in the handsome salon and served like a young empress by 
the obsequious waiter, who, having seen the color of Reginald’s gold, was 
all attention to Mademoiselle. It was a great change, and in her lone- 
liness she half wished herself back with her heterogeneous companions, 
who had amused and interested her, and to some of whom she was 
really attached. But just as dessert was served Rex came in and joined 
her, and everything was changed, for there was no mistaking the inter- 
est he was beginning to feel in her : it showed itself in ways which 
never fail to reach a woman’s heart. At his aunt’s earnest entreaty 
he had decided to spend another night at Aix, but he left the next 
morning with instructions that Mrs. Hallam should be ready to join 
him whenever he wrote her to do so. 

“ And mind,” he said, laying a hand on each of her shoulders, 
“ don’t you bring Mrs. Haynes with you, for I will not have her. 
Pension her off, if you want to, and I will pay the bill ; but leave her 
here.” 


CHAPTER XIV. 

AT THE BEAU-RIVAGE. 

“ Beau-Rivage, Ouchy, Switzerland, August 4, 18—. 
“To Miss Bertha Leighton, Hotel Splendide, Aix-les- Bains, Savoy. 

“ Fred is dying, and I am ill in bed. Come at once. 

“Louie Thurston.” 

This was the telegram which Bertha received about a week after 
Rex’s departure for Chamonix, and within an hour of its receipt her 
trunk was packed and she was ready for the first train which would 
take her to Ouchy. Mrs. Hallam had made no objection to her going, 
but, on the contrary, seemed rather relieved than otherwise, for since 
the revolution which Rex had brought about she hardly knew what to 
do with Bertha. The maid Eloise had proved a treasure, and under 
the combined effects of Rex’s pourboire and Rex’s instructions had 
devoted herself so assiduously to both Mrs. Hallam and Bertha that it 
was difficult to tell which she was serving most. But she ignored Mrs. 
Haynes entirely, saying that Monsieur’s orders were for his Madame 
and his Mademoiselle, and she should recognize the rights of no third 
party until he told her to do so. In compliance with Rex’s wishes, 
very decidedly expressed, Mrs. Hallam now took all her meals in the 
salon with Bertha, but they were rather dreary affairs, and, although 
sorry for the cause, both were glad when an opportunity came for a 
change. 

“ Certainly it is your duty to go,” Mrs. Hallam said, when Bertha 
handed her the telegram, while Mrs. Haynes also warmly approved of 


MRS. HAL LA M'S COMPANION. 787 

the plan, and both expressed surprise that Bertha had never told them 
of her relationship to Mrs. Fred Thurston. 

They knew Mrs. Fred was a power in society, and Mrs. Haynes 
had met her once or twice and through a friend had managed to attend 
a reception at her house, which she described as magnificent. To be 
Mrs. Fred Thurston’s cousin was to be somebody, and both Mrs. 
Hallam and Mrs. Haynes became suddenly interested in Bertha, the 
latter offering her advice with regard to the journey, while the former 
suggested the propriety of sending Browne as an escort. But Bertha 
declined the offer. She could speak the language fluently and would 
have no difficulty whatever in finding her way to Ouchy, she said, but 
she thanked the ladies for their solicitude and parted with them, ap- 
parently, on the most amicable terms. Grace accompanied her to the 
station, and while waiting for the train said to her confidentially, “ I 
expect there will be a bigger earthquake by and by than Rex got up on 
your account. Jack and I are engaged. I made up my mind last 
night to take the great, good-natured, awkward fellow and run my 
chance on seven hundred dollars a year. It will come off early in the 
autumn, and we shall go to Florida and see what we can do with that 
orange-grove. Jack will have to work, and so shall I, and I shall like 
it and he won’t, but I shall keep him at it, trust me. Can you imagine 
mother’s disgust when I tell her? She really thinks that I have a 
chance with Rex. But that is folly. Play your cards well. I think 
you hold a lone hand. There’s your train. Write when you get there. 
Good-by.” 

There was a friendly parting, a rush through the gate for the car- 
riages, a slamming of doors, and then the train sped on its way, bearing 
Bertha to a new phase of life in Ouchy. 

Thurston had been sick all the voyage, and instead of resting in 
Paris, as Rex had advised him and Louie had entreated him to do, he 
had started at once for Geneva and taken a severe cold on the night 
train. Arrived at the Beau-Rivage in Ouchy, he refused to see a phy- 
sician until his wife came down with nervous prostration aud one was 
called for her. Louie had had rather a hard time after Rex left her 
in Paris, for, as if to make amends for his Jekyll mood on the ship, 
her husband was unusually unreasonable, and worried her so with 
sarcasm and taunts and ridicule that her heart was very sore when she 
reached Ouchy and was shown into a handsome suite of rooms over- 
looking the lovely lake. The excitement of the voyage, with Reginald 
as her constant companion, was over, and she must again take up the 
old life, which seemed drearier than ever because everything and every- 
body were so strange, and she found herself constantly longing for 
somebody to speak a kind and sympathetic word to her. In this con- 
dition of things it was not strange that she succumbed at last to the 
extreme nervous depression which had affected her in Boston, and 
which was now so intensified that she could scarcely lift her head from 
the pillow. 

“I am only tired,” she said to the physician, a kind, fatherly old 
man, who asked her what was the matter. “ Only tired of life, which 
is not worth the living.” And her sad blue eyes looked up so patheti- 


788 


MRS. HALL AM'S COMPANION. 


cally into his face that the doctor felt moved with a great pity for this 
young, beautiful woman, surrounded with every luxury money could 
buy, but whose face and words told a story he could not understand 
until called to prescribe for her husband ; and then he knew. 

Thurston had made a fight against the illness which was stealing 
over him and which he swore he would defy. Drugs and doctors were 
for silly women like Louie, who must be amused, he said, but he would 
have none of them. “ Only exert your will and you can cheat Death 
himself,” was his favorite saying, and he exerted his will, and went to 
Chillon, rowed on the lake in the moonlight, took a Turkish bath, and 
next day had a chill, which lasted so long and left him so weak that 
he consented to seethe doctor, but raved like a madman when told that 
he must go to bed and stay there if he wished to save his life. 

“ I don’t know that I care particularly about it. I haven’t found 
it so very jolly,” he said ; then, after a moment, he added, with a bitter 
laugh, “ Tell my wife I am likely to shuffle off this mortal coil, and 
see how it affects her.” 

He was either crazy, or a brute, or both, the doctor thought, but he 
made him go to bed, secured the best nurse he could find, and was there 
early the next morning to see how his patient fared. He found him 
so much worse that when he went to Louie he asked if she had any 
friends near who could come to her, saying, “ If you have, send for 
them at once.” 

Louie was in a state where nothing startled her, and without open- 
ing her eyes she said, “ Am I going to die ?” 

“ No,” was the doctor’s reply, and she continued, “ Is my husband?” 

“ I hope not, but he is very ill and growing steadily worse. Have 
you any friend who will come to you?” 

“ Yes, — my cousin, Miss Leighton, at Aix,” Louie answered ; and 
she dictated the telegram which the doctor wrote after asking if she 
had no male friend. 

For a moment she hesitated, thinking of Reginald, who would 
surely come if bidden, and be so strong and helpful. But that would 
not do ; and she answered, “ There is no one. Bertha can do every- 
thing.” 

So Bertha was summoned, and the day after the receipt of the tele- 
gram she was at the Beau-Rrvage, feeling that she had not come too 
soon when she saw how utterly prostrated Louie was, and how excited 
and unmanageable Thurston was becoming under the combined effects 
of fever and his dislike of his nurse, who could not speak a word of 
English, while he' could understand very little French. Frequent 
altercations were the result, and when Bertha entered the sick-room 
there was a fierce battle of words going on between the two, Victoire 
trying to make the patient take his medicine, while he sat bolt upright 
in bed, the perspiration rolling down his face as he fought against the 
glass and hurled at the half-crazed Frenchman every opprobrious 
epithet in the English language. As Bertha appeared the battle ceased, 
but not until the glass with its contents was on the floor, where Thurs- 
ton had struck it from Victoire’s hand. . 

“ Ah, Bertha,” he gasped, as he sank exhausted upon his pillow, 


MRS. HALL A M'S COMPANION. 


789 


“ did you drop from heaven, or where? and won’t you tell this idiot 
that it is not time to take my medicine ? I know, for I have it written 
down in good English. Blast that French language, which nobody 
can understand ! I doubt if they do themselves, the gabbling fools, 
with their parleys and we we’s” 

It did not take Bertha long to bring order out of confusion. She 
was a natural nurse, and when the doctor came and she proposed 
to take' Victoire’s place until a more suitable man was found, her 
offer was accepted. But it was no easy task she had assumed, and 
after two days and nights, during which she was only relieved for 
a few hours by John, Thurston’s valet, when sleep was absolutely 
necessary, she was thoroughly worn out. Leaving the sick man in 
charge of John, she started for a ramble through the grounds, hoping 
that the air and exercise would rest and strengthen her. The Thurston 
rooms were at the rear of a long hall on the second floor, and, as the 
other end was somewhat in shadow, she only knew that some one was 
advancing towards her as she went rapidly down the corridor. Nor 
did she look up until a voice which sent a thrill through every nerve 
said to her, “ Good-afternoon, Miss Leighton. Don’t you know me?” 
Then she stopped suddenly, while a cry of delight escaped her, as she 
gave both her hands into the warm strong ones of Hex Hallam, who 
held them fast while he questioned her rapidly and told her how he 
chanced to be there. He had joined his party at Chamonix, where 
they had stayed for a few days, crossing the Mer-de-Glace and making 
other excursions among the mountains and glaciers. He had then 
made a flying trip to Interlaken, Lucerne, and Geneva, in quest of the 
place to which he meant to remove his aunt, and had finally thought 
of Ouchy, where he knew the Thurstons were, and to which he had 
come in a boat from Geneva. Learning at the office of his friend’s 
illness, he had started at once for his room, meeting on the way with 
Bertha, whose presence there he did not suspect. While he talked he 
led her near to a window, where the light fell full upon her face, 
showing him how pale and tired it was. 

“This will not do,” he said, when he had heard her story. “ I am 
glad I have come to relieve you. I shall write to Aix to-day that I 
am going to stay here, where I can be of service to Fred and Louie, 
and to you too. You will not go back, of course, while your cousin 
needs you. And now go out into the sunshine, and by and by I’ll find 
you somewhere in the grounds.” 

He had taken matters into his own hands in his masterful way, and 
Bertha felt how delightful it was to have some one to lean upon, and 
that one Rex Hallam, whose voice was so full of sympathy, whose eyes 
looked at her so kindly, and whose hands held hers so long and seemed 
so unwilling to release them. With a blush she withdrew them from 
his clasp. Leaving her at last, he walked down the hall, entering 
Louie’s room first and finding her asleep, with her maid in charge. 
For a moment he stood looking at her white wan face, which touched 
him more than her fair beauty had ever done, for on it he could read 
the story of her life, and a great pity welled up in his heart for the 
girl who seemed so like a lovely flower broken on its stem. 


790 


MRS. HALL AM'S COMPANION. 


u Poor little Louie !” he said, involuntarily, and at the sound of 
his voice Louie awoke, recognizing him at once, and exclaiming, “ Oh, 
Rex ! I was dreaming of you and the magnolias. I am so glad you 
are here! You will stay, won’t you? I am afraid Fred is going to 
die, he is so bad, and then what shall I do?” 

She gave him her hand, which he did not hold as long as he had 
held Bertha’s, nor did the holding it affect him equally. Hers had 
been warm and soft and full of life, with something electrical in their 
touch which sent the blood bounding through his veins and made him 
long to kiss them, as well as the bright face raised so eagerly to his. 
Louie’s hand was thin and clammy, and so small that he could have 
crushed it easily, as he raised it to his lips with the freedom of an old- 
time friend, and just as he would have done had Fred himself been 
present. He told her he should stay as long as he was needed, and 
after a few moments went to see her husband, who was beginning to 
grow restless and to fret at Bertha’s absence. But at sight of Reginald 
his mood changed, and he exclaimed, joyfully, “ Rex, old boy, I wonder 
if you know how glad I am to see you. I do believe I shall get well 
now you are here, though I am having a big tussle with some con- 
founded thing, — typhoid, the doctor calls it; but doctors are fools. 
How did you happen to drop down here?” 

Rex told him how he chanced to be there, and that he was going 
to stay, and then, excusing himself, went in quest of Bertha, whom he 
found sitting upon a rustic seat which was partially concealed by a 
clump of shrubbery. It was a glorious afternoon, and Rex, who was 
very fond of boating, proposed a row upon the lake, to which Bertha 
consented. 

“ I have had too many races with Harvard not to know how to 
manage the oars myself,” he said, as he handed Bertha into the boat, 
and, dismissing the boy, pushed off from the shore. 

It was a delightful hour they spent together gliding over the smooth 
waters of the lake, and in that time they became better acquainted than 
many people do in years. There was no coquetry nor sham in Bertha’s 
nature, while Rex was so open and frank, and they had so much in 
common to talk about, that restraint was impossible between them. 
Poor Rose Arabella Jefferson was discussed and laughed over, Rex 
declaring his intention to find her some time, if he made a pilgrimage 
to Scotsburg on purpose. Then he spoke of the encounter on the ship, 
and said, “ I can’t tell you how many times I have thought of that girl 
before I knew it was you, or how I have wanted to see her and apolo- 
gize properly for my awkwardness. Something seems to be drawing us 
together strangely.” Then he spoke again of his visit to the Home- 
stead, while Bertha became wonderfully animated as she talked of her 
home, and Rex, watching her, felt that he had never seen so beautiful 
a face as hers, or listened to a sweeter voice. “ I wonder if I am really 
falling in love,” he thought, as he helped her from the boat, while she 
was conscious of some subtle change wrought in her during that hour 
on Lake Geneva, and felt that life would never be to her again exactly 
what it had been. 


MRS. HALL AM'S COMPANION. 


791 


CHAPTER XV. 

THE UNWELCOME GUEST. 

Thurston was very ill with typhoid fever, which held high car- 
nival with him physically, but left him mentally untouched. One 
afternoon, the fifth after Rex’s arrival, the two were alone, and for 
some time Fred lay with his eyes closed and an expression of intense 
thought upon his face. Then, turning suddenly to Rex, he said, “ Sit 
close to me. I want to tell you something.” 

Rex drew his chair to the bedside, and Fred continued, “That 
idiot of a doctor has the same as told me I am going to die, and, though 
I don’t believe him, I can’t help feeling a little anxious about it, and I 
want you to help me get ready.” 

“ Certainly,” Rex answered, with a gasp, entirely misunderstanding 
Fred’s meaning, and wishing the task of getting his friend ready to die 
had devolved on some one else. “We hope to pull you through, but it 
is always well to be prepared for death, and I’ll help you all I can. 
I’m afraid, though, you have called upon a poor stick. I might say 
the Lord’s prayer with you, or, better yet,” and Rex grew quite cheer- 
ful, “there’s a young American clergyman in the hotel. I will bring 
him to see you. He’ll know just what to say.” 

“Thunder!” Fred exclaimed, so energetically that Rex started from 
his chair. “ Don’t be a fool. I shall die as I have lived, and if there 
is a hereafter, which I doubt, I shall take my chance with the rest. I 
don’t want your clergy round me, though I wouldn’t object to hearing 
you say 1 Our Father.’ It would be rather jolly. I used to know it, 
with a lot of other things, but I quit it long ago, — left all the praying 
to Louie, who goes on her knees regularly night and morning in spite 
of my ridicule. Once, when she was posing beautifully, with her long 
white dressing-gown spread out a yard or so on the floor, I walked 
over it on purpose to irritate her, but didn’t succeed. I never did suc- 
ceed very well with Louie. But it is more my fault than hers, al- 
though 1 was fonder of her than she ever knew. She never pretended 
to love me. She told me she didn’t when she promised to marry me, 
and when I asked if any one stood between us she said no, but added 
that there was somebody for whom she could have cared a great deal 
if he had cared for her. I did not ask her who it was, but I think I 
know, and she would have been much happier with him than with 
me. Poor Louie ! maybe she will have a chance yet ; and if she does 
I am willing.” 

His bright, feverish eves were fixed curiously upon Rex, who made 
no sign. He went on, “It’s for Louie and her matters I want help, 
not for my soul ; that’s all right, if I have one. Louie is a child in 
experience, and you must see to her when I am gone, and stand by her 
till she goes home. There’ll be an awful row with the landlord, and 
no end of expense, and a terrible muss to get me to America. My man 
John will take what there is left of me to Mount Auburn, if you start 
him right. Louie can’t go, and you must stay with her and Bertha. 
If Mrs. Grundy kicks up a row about your chaperoning a handsome 
girl and a pretty young widow, — and, by Jove, Louie will be that, — 


792 


MRS. HALL AM'S COMPANION. 


bring your auut to the rescue ; that will make it square. Aud now 
about my will. I made oue last summer, and left everything to Louie 
on condition that she did not marry again. That was nonsense. She 
will marry, if the right man offers; — wild horses can’t hold her; and 
I want you to draw up another will, with no conditions, giving a few 
thousands to the Fresh Air Fund and the Humane Society. That will 
please Louie. She’s great on children and horses. What is it about 
a mortgage on old man Leighton’s farm ? Louie wanted me to pay it 
and keep Bertha from going out to service, as she called it. But I 
was in one of my moods, and swore I wouldn’t. I am sorry now I 
didn’t. Maybe 1 have a soul, after all, and that is what is nagging me 
so when I think of the past. I wish I knew how much the mortgage 
was.” 

“ I know ; I can tell you,” Rex said, with a great deal of animation, 
as he proceeded to narrate the particulars of the mortgage and his visit 
to the Homestead, while Fred listened intently. 

“ Ho-ho,” he said, with a laugh, when Rex had finished. “ Is that 
the way the wind blows? I thought maybe — but never mind. Five 
hundred, is it? I’ll make it a thousand, payable to Bertha at once. 
You’ll find writing-materials in the desk by the window. And hurry 
up ; I’m getting infernally tired.” 

It did not take long to make the will, and when it was finished, 
Rex and Mr. Thurston’s valet John and Louie’s maid Martha, all 
Americans, witnessed it. After that Fred, who was greatly exhausted, 
fell into a heavy sleep, and when he awoke Bertha was alone with him. 
He seemed very feverish, and asked for water, which she gave him, 
and then bathed his forehead and hands, while he said to her, faintly, 
“ You are a trump. I wish I’d made it two thousand instead of one; 
but Louie will make it right. Poor Louie! she’s going to be so dis- 
appointed. It’s a big joke on her. I wonder how she will take it.” 

Bertha had no idea what he meant, and made no reply, while he 
continued, “ Say, how does a fellow feel when he has a soul ?” 

Bertha felt sure now that he was delirious, but before she could 
answer he went on, “ I never thought I had one, but maybe I have. 
I feel so sorry for a lot of things, and mostly about Louie. Tell her 
so when I am dead. Tell her I wasn’t half as bad a sort as she 
thought. It will be like her to swathe herself in crape, with a veil 
which sweeps the ground. Tell her not to. Black will not become 
her. Think of Louie in a widow’s cap!” 

Weak as he was, he laughed aloud at the thought of it, and then 
began to talk of the prayer which had “ forgive” in it, and which Rex 
was to say with him. 

“Do you know it?” he asked, and, with her heart swelling in her 
throat, Bertha answered that she did, and asked if she should say it. 

He nodded, and Rex, who at that moment came unobserved to the 
door, never forgot the picture of the kneeling girl and the wistful, 
pathetic expression on the face of the dying man as he tried to say the 
words which had once been familiar to him. 

“ Amen ! So be it ! Finis ! I guess that makes it about square. 
Tell Louie I prayed,” he whispered, faintly, and never spoke again 


MRS. HALL AM'S COMPANION. 


793 


until the early morning sunlight was shining on the lake and the hills 
of Savoy, when he started suddenly and called, “ Louie, Louie ! Where 
are you ? I can’t find you. Oh, Louie, come to me.” 

But Louie was asleep in her room across the long salon, and when, 
an hour later, she awoke, Bertha told her that her husband was dead. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

TANGLED THREADS. 

As Thurston had predicted, there was a great deal of trouble 
and no end of expense; but Rex attended to everything, while Bertha 
devoted herself to Louie, who had gone from one hysterical paroxysm 
into another until she was weaker and more helpless than she had ever 
been, but not too weak to talk continually of Fred, who, one would 
suppose, had been the tenderest of husbands. All she had suffered at 
his hands was forgotten, wiped out by the message he had left for her 
and by knowing that his last thoughts had been of her. But she 
spurned the idea of not wearing black, and insisted that boxes of 
mourning dresses and bonnets and caps should be sent to her on ap- 
probation from Geneva and Lausanne, until her room looked like a 
bazaar of crape, and not only Bertha and Martha, the maid, but Rex 
was more than once called in for an opinion as to what would be most 
suitable. It was rather a peculiar position in which Rex found him- 
self, — two young ladies on his hands, with one of whom he was in love, 
while the other would unquestionably be in love with him as soon as 
her first burst of grief was over and she had settled the details of her 
wardrobe. But he did not mind it : in fact, he found it delightful to be 
associated daily with Bertha and to be constantly applied to for sym- 
pathy and advice by Louie, who treated him with the freedom and 
confidence of a sister, and he would not have thought of a change, if 
Bertha had not suggested it. She had been told of the bequest which 
secured the Homestead from sale and made it no longer necessary for 
her to return to Mrs. Hallam, and she wrote at once asking to be 
released from her engagement, but saying she would keep it if her 
services were still desired. 

It was a very gracious reply which Mrs. Hallam returned to her, 
freeing her from all obligations to herself, while something in the tone 
of the letter made Bertha suspect that all was not as rose-colored at 
Aix as it had been, and that Mrs. Hallam would be glad to make one 
of the party at Ouchy. This she said to Rex, suggesting that he should 
invite his aunt to join them, and urging so strongly the propriety of 
either bringing her to him, or going himself to her, that he finally 
wrote to his aunt to come to him, and immediately received a reply 
that she would be with him the next day. Rex met her at the station 
in Lausanne, and Bertha received her at the hotel as deferentially and 
respectfully as if she were still her hired companion, a condition which 
Mrs. Hallam had made up her mind to ignore, especially as it no longer 
existed between them. Taking both Bertha’s hands in hers, she kissed 


794 


MRS. HALL AM'S COMPANION. 


her effusively and told her how much better she was looking since she 
left Aix. 

“ And no wonder,” she said. “ The air there was not good, and 
either that or something made me very nervous, so that I did things 
for which I am sorry, and which I hope you will forget.” 

This was a great concession. Bertha received it graciously, and the 
two were on the best of terms when they entered Louie’s room. Louie 
had improved rapidly during the week, and was sitting in an easy-chair 
by the window, clad in a most becoming tea-gown fashioned at Worth’s 
for the first stages of deep mourning, and looking more like a girl of 
eighteen than a widow of twenty-five. Notwithstanding her husband’s 
assertion that black would not become her, she had never been half so 
lovely as she was in her weeds, and her face was never so fair as when 
framed in her little crepe bonnet and widow’s cap, which sat so jauntily 
on her golden hair. “ Dazzliugly beautiful and altogether irresistible,” 
was Mrs. Hal lam’s opinion as the days went by, and Louie grew more 
and more cheerful, sometimes forgot to put Fred’s photograph under 
her pillow, and began to talk less of him and more to Rex, whose at- 
tentions she claimed with an air of ownership which would have amused 
Bertha if she could have put from her the harrowing thought of what 
might be a year hence, when the grave at Mount Auburn was not as 
new, or Louie’s loss as fresh, as they were now. 

“He cannot help loving her,” she would say to herself, “and I 
ought to be glad to have her happy with him.” 

But she was not glad, and it showed in her face, whose expression 
Rex could not understand. Louie’s was one of those natures which, 
without meaning to be selfish, make everything subservient to them. She 
was always the centre about which others revolved, and Rex was her 
willing slave, partly because of Thurston’s dying charge, and partly 
because he could not resist her pretty appealing ways, and would not 
if he could. But he never dreamed of associating his devotion to her 
with Bertha’s growing reserve. She was his real queen, without whom 
his life at Ouchy would have been very irksome, and when she sug- 
gested going home, as Dorcas had written urging her to do, he pro- 
tested against it almost as strenuously as Louie. She must stay, both 
said, until she had seen something of Europe besides Aix and Ouchy. 
So she stayed, and they spent September at Interlaken and Lucerne, 
October in Paris, and November at the Italian lakes, where she re- 
ceived a letter from Grace, written in New York and signed “ Grace 
Haynes Travis.” 

“We were married yesterday,” she wrote, “ and to-morrow we start 
for our Florida cabin and orange-grove, near Orlando, where so many 
English people have settled. Mother gave in handsomely at the last, 
when she found there was no help for it, and I actually won over Lady 
Gresham, who used to think me a Hottentot, and always spoke of me 
as ‘ that dreadful American girl.’ She invited mother and me to her 
country house, The Limes, near London, and suggested that Jack and 
I be married there. But I preferred New York : so she gave us her 
blessing and a thousand pounds, and mother, Jack, and I sailed three 
weeks ago in the Umbria. When are you coming home? and how is 


MRS HALL A M’S COMPANION. 


795 


that pretty little Mrs. Thurston ? I saw her once, and thought her 
very lovely, with that sweet, clinging, helpless manner which takes with 
men wonderfully. I have heard that she was an old flame of Rex 
Hallam’s, or rather a young one, but I’ll trust you to win him, al- 
though as a widow she is dangerous : so, in the words of the immortal 
Weller, I warn you, ‘ Bevare of vidders.’ ” 

There was much more in the same strain, and Bertha laughed over 
it, but felt a pang for which she hated herself every time she looked 
at Louie, whose beauty and grace drew about her many admirers 
besides Rex, in spite of her black dress and her frequent allusions to 
“dear Fred, whose grave was so far away.” She was growing stronger 
every day, and when in December Rex received a letter from his 
partner saying that his presence in New York was rather necessary, 
she declared herself equal to the journey, and said that if Rex went 
she should go too. Consequently the 1st of January found them 
all in London, where they were to spend a few days, and where 
Rex brought his aunt a letter, addressed, bottom side up, to “ Mrs. 
Lucy Ann Hallam, Care of Brown, Shipley & Co., London. Post 
Restant.” 

There was a gleam of humor in Rex’s eyes as he handed the missive 
to his aunt, whose face grew dark as she studied the outside, and darker 
still at the inside, which was wonderful in composition and orthography. 
Phineas Jones had been sent out to Scotland by an old man who had 
some property there and who knew he could trust Phineas to look after 
it and bring him back the rental, which he had found it hard to collect. 
After transacting his business, Phineas had decided to travel a little 
and “get cultivated up, so that his cousin Lucy Ann shouldn’t be 
ashamed of him.” Had he known where she was, he would have 
joined her, but, as he did not, he wrote her a letter, which had in it a 
great deal about Sturbridge and the old yellow house and the huckle- 
berry pasture and the circus and the spelling- school, all of which filled 
Mrs. Hallam with disgust. She was his only blood kin extant, he 
said, and he yearned to see her, but supposed he must wait till she was 
back in New York, when he should pay his respects to her at once. 
And she wouldn’t be ashamed of him, either. He knew what was 
what, and had hob-a-nobbed with nobility, who took a sight of notice 
of him. He was going to sail the 10th in the Germanic, he said, and 
if she’d let him know when she was coming home he’d be in New 
York on the wharf to meet her. 

As it chanced, the Germanic was the boat in which the Hallam 
party had taken passage for the 10th, but Mrs. Hallam suddenly dis- 
covered that she had not seen enough of London ; Rex could go, if he 
must, but she should wait for the next boat of the same line. Rex 
had no suspicion as to the real reason for her change of mind, and, as 
a week or two could make but little difference in the business calling 
him home, he stayed, and when the next boat of the White Star line 
sailed out of the docks of Liverpool it carried the party of four : Louie, 
limp and tearful as she thought of her husband who had been with her 
when she crossed before; Mrs. Hallam, excited and nervous, half ex- 
pecting to see Phineas pounce upon her, and haunted with a presenti- 


796 


MRS. HALLAM'S COMPANION . 


ment that he was somewhere on the ship ; and Rex, with Bertha, 
hunting for the spot where he had first seen her and knocked her 
down. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

ON THE SEA. 

It was splendid weather for a few days, and no one thought of 
being sea-sick, except Mrs. Hal lam, who kept her room, partly because 
she thought she must, and partly because she could not shake off the 
feeling that Phineas was on board. She had read the few names on 
the passenger-list, but his was not among them, nor did she expect to 
find it, as he had sailed two weeks before. Still, she would neither go 
on deck nor into the dining-saloon, and, without being really ill, kept 
her berth and was waited upon by Elo'ise, who was accompanying her 
home. Louie, who was still delicate and who always shrank from 
cold, stayed mostly in the salon. But the briny bracing sea air suited 
Bertha, and for several hours each day she walked the deck with Rex, 
whose arm was sometimes thrown round her when the ship gave a 
great lurch, or when on turning a corner they met the wind full in 
their faces. Then there were the moonlight nights, when the air was 
full of frost and the waves were like burnished silver, and in her seal- 
skin coat and cap, which Louie had bought for her in Geneva, Bertha 
was never tired of walking and never thought of the cold, for, if the 
exercise had not kept her warm, the light which shone upon her from 
Rex’s eyes when she met their gaze would have done so. Perhaps he 
looked the same at Louie, — very likely he did, — but for the present he 
was hers alone, and she was supremely happy while the fine warm 
weather lasted and with it the companionship on deck. But suddenly 
there came a change. 

Along the western coast of the Atlantic a wild storm had been 
raging, and when it subsided there it swept towards the east, gathering 
force as it went, and, joined by the angry winds from every point of 
the compass, it was almost a cyclone when it reached the Teutonic. 
But the great ship met it bravely, mounting wave after wave like a 
feather, then plunging down into the green depths below, then rising 
again and shaking off the water as if the boiling sea were a mere play- 
thing and the storm gotten up for its pastime. The passengers, who 
were told that there was no real danger, kept up their courage while 
the day lasted, but when the night came on and the darkness grew 
deeper in the salon, where nearly all were assembled, many a face grew 
white with fear as they listened to the howling of the wind and the 
roaring of the sea, while wave after wave struck the ship, which some- 
times seemed to stand still, and then, trembling in every joint, rose up 
to meet the angry waves which beat upon it with such tremendous 
force. 

Early in the day Louie had taken to her bed, where she lay sobbing 
bitterly, while Bertha tried in vain to comfort her. As the darkness 
was increasing and the noise overhead grew more and more deafening, 
Rex brought his aunt to the salon, where, like many of the others, she 


MRS. HALLAM'S COMPANION. 


797 


sat down upon the floor, clinging to one of the chairs for support. 
Then he went to Louie and asked if he should not take her there too. 

“ No, no ! oh, no !" she moaned. “ I'd rather die here, if you will 
stay with me." 

Just then a roll of the ship sent her out upon the floor, where 
every movable thing in the room had gone before her. After that she 
made no further resistance, but suffered Bertha to wrap her waterproof 
around her, and was then carried by Rex and deposited upon one end 
of a table, where she lay, too much frightened to move, with Rex sup- 
porting her on one side and Bertha on the other. And still the storm 
raged on, and the white faces grew whiter as the question was asked, 
“What will the end be?" In every heart there was a prayer, and 
Rex's mind went back to that night at the Homestead and the prayers 
for those in peril on the deep. Were they praying now, and would 
their prayers avail, or would the sad news go to them that their loved 
one was lying far down in the depths of the sea? 

“ Oh, if I could save her !" he thought, moving his hand along 
upon the table until it touched and held hers in a firm clasp which 
seemed to say, “ For life or death you are mine." 

Just then Louie began to shiver, and moaned that she was cold. 

“Wait a minute, darling," Bertha said, “and I will bring you a 
blanket from our state-room, if I can get there." 

This was no easy task, for the ship was plunging fearfully, and 
always at an angle which made walking difficult. Twice Bertha fell 
upon her knees, and once struck her head against the side of the pas- 
sage, but she reached the room at last, and, securing the blanket, was 
turning to retrace her steps, when a wave heavier than any which had 
preceded it struck the vessel, which reeled with what one of the sailors 
called a double X, pitching and rolling sidewise and endwise and 
cornerwise all at once. To stand was impossible, and with a cry 
Bertha fell forward into the arms of Rex Hallam. 

“ Rex !" she said, involuntarily, and “ Bertha !" he replied, shower- 
ing kisses upon her face, down which the tears were running like rain. 

She had been gone so long that he had become alarmed at her 
absence, and with great difficulty had made his way to the state-room, 
which he reached in time to save her from a heavy fall. Both were 
thrown upon the lounge under the window, where they sat for a 
moment, breathless and forgetful of their danger. Bertha was the first 
to speak, saying she must go to Louie, but Rex held her fast, and, 
steadying himself as best he could, drew her face close to his, and said, 
“This is not a time for love-making, but I may never have another 
chance, and, if we must die, death will be robbed of half its terrors if 
you are with me, my darling, my queen, whom I believe I have loved 
ever since I saw your photograph and thought it was poor Rose Ara- 
bella Jefferson." 

He could not repress a smile at the remembrance of that scion of 
the Jeffersons, but Bertha did not see it. Her head was lying upon 
his breast, and he was holding to the side of the door to keep from 
being thrown upon the floor as he urged his suit and then waited for 
her answer. Against the windows and the dead-lights the waves were 


798 


MRS. HALLAM 'S COMPANION. 


dashing furiously, while overhead was a roar like heavy cannonading, 
mingled with the hoarse shouts of voices calling through the storm. 
But Rex heard Bertha’s answer, and at the peril of his limbs folded 
her in his arms and said, “ Now we live or die together ; and I think 
that we shall live.” 

Naturally they forgot the blanket and everything else as they 
groped their way back to the door of the salon, where Rex stopped 
suddenly at the sound of a voice heard distinctly enough for him to 
know that some one was praying loudly and earnestly, and to know, too, 
who it was whose clear, nasal tones could be heard above the din without. 

“Phineas Jones!” he exclaimed. “Great Caesar! how came he 
here?” And he struggled in with Bertha to get nearer to him. 

Phineas had been very ill in Liverpool, and when the Germanic 
left he was still in bed, and was obliged to wait two weeks longer, 
when he took passage on the same ship with Mrs. Hallam. Even then 
he was so weak that he did not make up his mind to go until an hour 
before the ship sailed. As there were few passengers, he had no diffi- 
culty in securing a berth, where during the first days of the voyage he 
lay horribly sea-sick and did not know who were on board. He had 
been too late for his name to be included in the passenger- list, and it 
was not until the day of the storm that he saw it and learned that 
Mrs. Hallam and Rex and Bertha were on the ship. To find them 
at once was his first impulse, but when the cyclone struck the boat it 
struck him, too, with a fresh attack of sea-sickness, from which he did 
not rally until night, when he would not be longer restrained. Some- 
thing told him, he said, that Lucy Ann needed him, — in fact, that 
they all needed him in the cabin, and he was going there. And he 
went, nearly breaking his neck. Entering the salon on his hands and 
knees, he made his way to the end of the table on which Louie lay, 
and near which Mrs. Hallam was still clinging desperately to a chair 
as she crouched upon the floor. It was at this moment that the double 
X which had sent Bertha into Rex’s arms struck the ship, eliciting 
shrieks of terror from the passengers, who felt that the end had come. 
Steadying himself against a corner of the table, Phineas called out, in 
a loud, penetrating voice, “Silence! This is no time to scream and 
cry. It is action you want. Pray to be delivered, as Jonah did. 
The captain and crew are doing their level best on deck. Let us do 
ours here, and don’t you worry. We shall be heard. The Master 
who stilled the storm on Galilee is in this boat, and not asleep, either, 
in the hindermost part. If He was, no human could get to Him, with 
the ship nearly bottom side up. He is in our midst. I know it, I feel 
it; and you who are too scart to pray, and you who don’t know how, 
listen to me. Let us pray.” 

The effect was electric, and every head was bowed as Phineas began 
the most remarkable prayer which was ever offered on shipboard. He 
was in deadly earnest, and, fired with the fervor and eloquence which 
made him so noted as a class-leader, he informed the Lord of the con- 
dition they were in and instructed Him how to improve it. Galilee, 
he said, was nothing to the Atlantic when on a tear as it was now, but 
the voice which had quieted the waters of Tiberias could stop this up- 


MRS. HALL AM'S COMPANION. 


799 


roar here. He presumed some of them ought to be drowned, he said, 
but they didn’t want to be, and were going to do better. Then he 
confessed every possible sin which might have been committed by the 
passengers, who, according to his statement, were about the wickedest 
lot, take them as a whole, that ever crossed the ocean. There were 
exceptions, of Course. There were near and dear friends of his, and 
one blood kin, on board, for whom he especially asked aid. He had 
not looked upon the face of his kinswoman for years, but he had 
never forgotten the sweet counsel they took together when children in 
Sturbridge, and he would have her saved anyway. Like himself, she 
was old and stricken in years, ,but 

“ Horrible !” came in muffled tones from something at his feet, and, 
looking down, he saw the bundle of shawls, which, in its excitement, 
had loosened its hold on the chair and was rolling down the inclined 
plane towards the centre of the room. 

Reaching out his long arm, he pulled it back, and, putting his foot 
against it, went on with what was now a prayer of thanksgiving. 
Those who have been in a storm at sea like the one I am describing 
will remember how quick they were to detect a change for the better, 
as the blows upon the ship became less frequent and heavy and the 
noise overhead began to subside. 

Phineas was the first to notice it, and, with his foot still firmly 
planted against the struggling bundle to keep it in place, he exclaimed, 
in a voice which was almost a shriek, “ We are saved ! We are saved ! 
Don’t you feel it ? Don’t you hear it ?” 

They did hear it and feel it, and with glad hearts responded to the 
words of thanksgiving which Phineas poured forth, saying the answer 
to his prayer had come sooner than he expected, and acknowledging 
that his faith had been weak as water. Then he promised a forsaking 
of their sins, and a life more consistent with the doctrine they professed, 
for them all, adapting himself as nearly as he could to the forms of 
worship familiar to the different denominations he knew must be as- 
sembled there. For the Presbyterians there was a mention made of 
foreordination and the Westminster Catechism, for the Baptists immer- 
sion, for the Methodists sanctification, for the Roman Catholics the 
Blessed Virgin ; but he forgot the Episcopalians, until, remembering, 
with a start, Rex and Lucy Ann, he wound up with “ From pride, 
vainglory, and hypocrisy, good Lord, deliver us. Amen.” 

The simple earnestness of the man so impressed his hearers that no 
one thought of smiling at his ludicrous language, and when the danger 
was really over and they could stand upon their feet they crowded 
around him as if he had been their deliverer from deadly peril, while 
Rex introduced him as his particular friend. This stamped him as 
somebody, and he at once became a sort of lion. We are all more or 
less susceptible to flattery, and Phineas was not an exception : he received 
the attentions with a very satisfied air, thinking to himself that if his 
recent prayers had so impressed them, what would they say if they 
could hear him when fully under way at a camp-meeting? 

“ Where’s your aunt?” he asked Rex, suddenly, while Rex looked 
round for her, but could not find her. 


800 


MRS. HALL AM'S COMPANION. 


More dead than alive, Mrs. Hallam had clung to the chair in mo- 
mentary expectation of going down, never to rise again, and in that 
awful hour it seemed to her that everything connected with her life had 
passed before her. The old yellow house, the grandmother to whom 
she had not always been kind, the early friends of whom she had been 
ashamed, the husband she had loved but whom she had tried so often, 
all stood out so vividly that it seemed as if she could touch them. 

“ Everything bad, — nothing good. May God forgive it all!” she 
whispered more than once as she lay waiting for the end and shudder- 
ing as she thought of the dark, cold waters so soon to engulf her. 

In this state of mind she became conscious that some one was 
standing so close to her that his boots held down a portion of her 
dress, but she did not mind it, for at that moment Phineas began his 
prayer, to which she listened intently. She knew it w r as an illiterate 
man, that his boots were coarse, that his clothes were saturated with 
an odor of cheap tobacco, and that he belonged to a class which she 
despised because she had once been of it. But as he prayed she felt, 
as she had never felt before, the Presence he said was there with him, 
and thought nothing of his class, or his tobacco, or his boots. He was 
a saint, until he spoke of Sturbridge and his blood kin who was old 
and stricken in years. Then she knew who the saint was, and as soon 
as it was possible to do so she escaped to her state-room, where Rex 
found her in a state of great nervous excitement. She could not and 
would not see Phineas that night, she said. Possibly she might be 
equal to it in the morning. With that message Phineas, who was 
hovering around her door, was obliged to be content ; but before he 
retired, every one with whom he talked knew that Mrs. Hallam was 
his cousin Lucy Ann, whom he used to know in Sturbridge when she 
was a girl. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

* 

ON SEA AND LAND. 

Naturally the captain and officers made rather light of the 
storm after it was over, citing, as a proof that it was not so very 
severe, the fact that within four hours after it began to subside the ship 
was sailing smoothly over a comparatively calm sea, on which the moon 
and stars were shining as brightly as if it had not so recently been 
stirred to its depths. The deck had been cleared, and, after seeing 
Louie in her berth, Bertha went up to join Rex, who was waiting for 
her. All the past peril was forgotten in the joy of their perfect love, 
and they had so much to talk about and so many plans for the future 
to discuss that the midnight bells sounded before they separated. 

u It is not very long till morning, when I shall see you again, nor 
long before you will be all my own,” Rex said, holding her in his arms 
and kissing her many times before he let her go. 

She found Louie asleep, and when next morning Bertha arose as 
the first gong sounded, Louie was still sleeping, exhausted with the 
excitement of the previous day. She was evidently dreaming, for there 


MRS. HALL AM'S COMPANION. 801 

was a smile on her lips which moved once with some word Bertha 
could not catch, although it sounded like “ Bex.” 

“ I wonder if she cares very much for him,” Bertha thought, with 
a twinge of pain. “ If she does, I cannot give him up, for he is mine, — 
my Bex.” 

She repeated the name aloud, lingering over it as if the sound were 
very pleasant to her, and just then Louie’s blue eyes opened and looked 
inquiringly at her. 

“ What is it about Bex?” she asked, smiling up at Bertha in that 
pretty, innocent way which children have of smiling when waking from 
sleep. “ Has he been to inquire for me?” she continued ; and, feeling 
that she' could no longer put it off, Bertha knelt beside her and told 
her a story which made the bright color fade from Louie’s face and 
her lips quiver in a grieved kind of way as she listened to it. 

When it was finished she did not say a word, except to ask if it 
was not very cold. 

“ I am all in a shiver. I think I will not get up. Tell Martha 
not to come to me. I do not want any breakfast,” she said, as she 
turned her face to the wall. 

For a moment Bertha lingered, perplexed and pained, — then started 
to leave the room. 

“ Wait,” Louie called, faintly, and when Bertha went to her she 
flung her arms around her neck and said, with a sob, “ I am glad for 
you, and I know you will be happy. Tell Bex I congratulate him. 
And now go, and don’t come back for ever so long. I am tired and 
want to sleep.” 

When she was alone, the little woman buried her face in the pillows 
and cried like a child, trying to believe she was crying for her husband, 
but failing dismally. It was for Bex, whom she had held dearer than 
she knew, and whom she had lost. But with all her weakness Louie 
had a good deal of common sense, which soon came to her aid. “ This 
is absurd, — crying for one who does not care for me except as a friend. 
I’ll be a woman, and not a baby,” she thought, as she rung for Martha 
to come and dress her. An hour later she surprised Bertha and Bex, 
who were sitting on a seat at the head of the stairs, with a rug thrown 
across their laps, concealing the hands clasped so tightly beneath it. 
Nothing could have been sweeter than her manner as she congratulated 
Bex verbally, and then, sitting down by them, began to plan the grand 
wedding she would give them if they would wait until poor Fred had 
been dead a little longer, say a year. 

Bex had his own ideas about the wedding and waiting, but he did 
not express them then. He had settled in his own mind when he 
should take Bertha, and that it would be from the old house in which 
he began to have a feeling of ownership. 

Meanwhile Mrs. Hallam had consented to see Phineas, whom Bex 
took to her state-room. What passed at the interview no one knew. It 
did not last long, and at its close Mrs. Hallam had a nervous headache 
and Phineas’s face wore a troubled and puzzled expression. He would 
never have known Lucy Ann, she had altered so, he said. Not grown 
old, as he supposed she would, but different somehow. He guessed she 
Vol. LIV. — 51 


802 


MRS. HALL AM'S COMPANION. 


was tuckered out with fright and the storm. She’d be better when she 
got home, and then they’d have a good set-to, talking of the old times. 
He was going to visit her a few days. 

This accounted for her headache, which lasted the rest of the voyage, 
so that she did not appear again until they were coming to the dock in 
New York. Handing her keys to Rex, she said, “See to my trunks, 
and for heaven’s sake keep that man from coming to the house, if you 
have to strangle him.” 

She was among the first to leave the ship, and was driving rapidly 
home, while Phineas was squabbling with a custom-house officer over 
some jewelry he had bought in Edinburgh as a present for Dorcas, and 
an overcoat in London for Mr. Leighton, and which he had consciem 
tiously declared. 

“ I’m a class-leader,” he said, “ and I’d smile to see me lie, and 
when they asked me if I had any presents I told ’m yes, a coat for 
the ’Square, and some cangorms for Dorcas, and I swan if they didn’t 
make me trot ’em out and pay duty, too ; and they let more’n fifty 
trunks full of women’s clothes go through for nothin’. I seen ’m. 
Where’s Lucy Ann ? I was goin’ with her,” he said to Rex, who could 
have enlightened him with regard to the women’s clothes which “ went 
through for nothin’,” but didn’t. 

“ Mr. Jones,” he said, buttonholing him familiarly as they walked 
out of the custom-house, “ my aunt has gone home. She is not feeling 
well at all, and, as the house is not quite in running order, I do not 
think you’d better go there now. I’ll take you to dine at my club, or, 
better yet, to the Waldorf, where Mrs. Thurston and Miss Leighton are 
to stop, and to-morrow we will all go on together, for I’m to see Mrs. 
Thurston home to Boston, and on my way back shall stop at the Home- 
stead. I am to marry Miss Bertha.” 

“ You be ! Well, I’m glad on’t ; but I do want to see Lucy Ann’s 
house, and I shan’t make an atom of trouble. She expects me,” Phineas 
said, and Rex replied, “ I hardly think she does. Indeed, I know she 
doesn’t, and I wouldn’t go if I were you.” 

Gradually the truth began to dawn upon Phineas, and there was a 
pathos in his voice and a moisture in his eyes as he said, “Is Lucy 
Ann ashamed of me? I wouldn’t have believed it, and she my only 
kin. I’d go through fire and water to serve her. Tell her so, and 
God bless her.” 

Rex felt a great pity for the simple-hearted man to whom the 
glories of a dinner at the Waldorf did not quite atone for the loss of 
Lucy Ann, whom he spoke of again when after dinner Rex went with 
him to the hotel, where he was to spend the night. 

“ I’m an awkward critter, I know,” he said, “ and not used to the 
ways of high society, but I’m respectable, and my heart is as big as 
an ox.” 

Nothing, however, rested long on Phineas’s mind, and the next 
morning he was cheerful as ever when he met his friends at the station, 
and committed the unwonted extravagance of taking a chair with them 
in. a parlor car, saying as he seated himself that he’d never been in one 
before, and that he found it tip-top. 


MRS. HALLAM’S COMPANION. 


803 


CHAPTER XIX. 

“ I, REX, TAKE THEE, BERTHA.” 

The words were said in the old homestead about a year from the 
time when we first saw Bertha walking along the lane to meet her 
sister and holding in her hand the newspaper which had been the 
means of her meeting with Rex Hallam. The May day had been 
perfect then, and it was perfect now. The air was odorous with the 
perfume of the pines and the apple-blossoms, and the country seemed 
as fresh and fair as when it first came from the hands of its Creator. 
The bequest which Fred had made to Bertha, and which he wished he 
had doubled, had been quadrupled by Louie, who, when Bertha de- 
clined to take so much, had urged it upon her as a bridal present in 
advance. With that understanding Bertha had accepted it, and several 
changes had been made in the Homestead, both outside and in. Bertha’s 
room, however, where Rex had once slept, remained intact. This he 
insisted upon, and it was in this room that he received his bride from 
the hands of her bridesmaids. It was a very quiet affair, with only a 
few intimate friends from Worcester and Leicester, and Mrs. Hallam 
from New York. Bertha had suggested inviting Mrs. Haynes, but 
Rex vetoed that decidedly. She had been the direct cause of so much 
humiliation to Bertha that he did not care to keep her acquaintance, he 
said. But Mrs. Haynes had no intention to be ignored by the future 
Mrs. Rex Hallam, and one of the handsomest presents Bertha received 
came from her, with a note of congratulation. Louie and Phineas 
were master and mistress of ceremonies, Louie inside and Phineas out- 
side, where he insisted upon caring for the horses of those who drove 
from Worcester and the village. 

He’d “ smile if he couldn’t do it up ship-shape,” he said, and he 
came at an early hour, gorgeous in swallow-tail coat, white vest, stove- 
pipe hat, and an immense amount of shirt-front, ornamented with 
Rhine-stone studs. In his ignorance he did not know that a dress-coat 
was not just as suitable for morning as evening, and had bought one 
second-hand at a clothing-store in Boston. He wanted to make a good 
impression on Lucy Ann, he said to Grace, who had been at the Home- 
stead two or three days, and who, declaring him a most delicious 
specimen, had hobnobbed with him quite familiarly. She told him 
she had no doubt he would impress Lucy Ann ; and he did, for she 
came near fainting when he presented himself to her, asking what she 
thought of his outfit, and how it would “ do for high.” She wanted 
to tell him that he would look far better in his every-day clothes than 
in that costume, but restrained herself and made some non-committal 
reply. Since meeting him on the ship she had had time to reflect that 
no one whose opinion was really worth caring for would think less of 
her because of her relatives, and she was a little ashamed of her treat- 
ment of him. Perhaps, too, she w'as softened by the sight of the old 
homestead, which had been her husband’s home, or Grace Travis’s 
avowal that she wished she had just such a dear codger of a cousin 
might have had some effect in making her civil and even gracious to 
the man who, without the least resentment for her former slight of him, 


804 


MRS. HALLAM'S COMPANION. 


“ Cousin Lucy Ann”-ed her continually and led her up to salute the 
bride after the ceremony was over. 

There was a wedding breakfast, superintended by Louie, who, if 
she felt any regret for the might-have-been, did not show it, and was 
bright and merry as a bird, talking a little of Fred and a great deal 
of Charlie Sinclair, whom business kept from the wedding and whose 
lovely present she had helped select. The wedding trip was to extend 
beyond the Rockies as far as Tacoma, and to include the Fair on the 
homeward journey. The remainder of the summer was to be spent at 
the Homestead, where Rex could hunt and fish and row to his heart’s 
content, if he could not have a fox-hunt. Both he and Bertha wished 
a home of their own in New York, but Mrs. Hallam begged so hard 
for them to stay with her for a year at least that they consented to 
do so. 

“ You may be the mistress, or the daughter of the house, as you 
please, only stay with me,” Mrs. Hallam said to Bertha, of whom she 
seemed very fond. 

Evidently she was on her best behavior, and during the few days 
she stayed at the Homestead she quite won the hearts of both Mr. 
Leighton and Dorcas, and greatly delighted Phineas by asking him to 
spend the second week in July with her. In this she was politic and 
managing. She knew he was bound to come some time, and, knowing 
that the most of her calling acquaintance would be out of town in 
July, she fixed his visit at that time, making him understand that he 
could not prolong it, as she was to join Rex and Bertha in Chicago on 
the 15th. Had he been going to visit the queen, Phineas could not 
have been more elated or have talked more about it. 

“ I hope I shan’t mortify Lucy Ann to death,” he said, and when 
in June Louie came for a few days to the Homestead he asked her to 
give him some points in etiquette, which he wrote down and studied 
diligently, till he considered himself quite equal to cope with any diffi- 
culty, and at the appointed time packed his dress-suit and started for 
New York. 

This was Monday, and on Saturday Dorcas was surprised to see 
him walking up the avenue from the car. He’d had a tip-top time, he 
said, and Lucy Ann did all she could to make it pleasant. 

“ But, my !” he added, “ it was so lonesome and grand and stiff; 
and didn’t Lucy Ann put on the style ! But I studied my notes, and 
held my own pretty well. I don’t think I made more than three or 
four blunders. I reached out and got a piece of bread with my fork, 
and saw a thunder-cloud on Lucy Ann’s face: and I put on my dress- 
suit one morning to drive to the Park, but took it off quicker when 
Lucy Ann saw it. Dress-coats ain’t the thing in the morning, it seems. 
I guess they ain’t the thing for me anywhere. But my third blunder 
was wust of all, though I don’t understand it. Between you ’n’ I, I 
don’t b’lieve Lucy Ann has much company, for not a livin’ soul come 
to the house while I was there, except one woman with two men in tall 
boots drivin’ her. Lucy Ann was out and the nigger was out, and I 
went to the door to save the girls from runnin’ up and down stairs so 
much. I told her Miss Hallam wa’n’t to home, and I rather urged 


MRS. II ALL AM’S COMPANION. 


805 


her to come in and take a chair, she looked so kind of disappointed 
and tired, and curi’s, too, I thought, as if she wondered who I was : so 
I said, i Fin Mis* Hallam’s cousin. You better come in and rest. 
She’ll be home pretty soon.’ ‘ Thanks/ she said, in a queer kind of 
way, and handed me a card for Lucy Ann, who was t earin’ when I 
told her what I’d done. It was the servants’ business to wait on the 
door when Peters was out, she said, and on no account was I to ask 
any one in if she wasn’t there. That ain’t my idea of hospitality. 
Is’t yours ?” 

Dorcas laughed, and said she supposed city ways were not exactly 
like those of the country. Phineas guessed they wasn’t, and he was 
glad to get where he could tip back in his chair if he wanted to, and 
eat with his knife, and ask a friend to come in and sit down. 

A few days later Dorcas and her father, with Louie, started for 
Chicago to join the Hallams. For four weeks they revelled in the 
wonders of the beautiful White City. After that Mrs. Hallam re- 
turned to her lonely house in New York, while Rex and Bertha and 
Louie went back to the old homestead. There they spent the remainder 
of the summer, and there Bertha lingered until the hazy light of 
October was beginning to hang over the New England hills and the 
autumnal tints to show in the woods. Then Rex, who had spent 
every Sunday there, took her to her new home, where her reception 
was very different from what it had been on her first arrival. Then 
she was only a hired companion, dining with the housekeeper and 
waiting on the fourth floor back for her employer to give her an 
audience. Now she was a petted bride, the daughter of the house, 
with full authority to go where she pleased, do what she pleased, and 
make any change she pleased, from the drawing-room to the handsome 
suite which had been fitted up for her. But she made no change, ex- 
cept in Rex’s sleeping-apartment, where she did take the pictures of 
ballet-dancers, rope-walkers, and sporting men from the mirror-frame, 
and substituted in their place those of her father, Dorcas, and Grace. 
She would have liked to remove her own picture, with “ Rose Ara- 
bella Jefferson” written upon it, but Rex interfered. It seemed to him, 
he said, a connecting link between his bachelor life and the great joy 
which had come to him, and it should stay there, Rose Arabella and all. 

Mr. Leighton and Dorcas have twice visited Bertha in her hand- 
some home, and been happy there because she was so happy. But 
both were glad to go back to the old house under the apple-trees and' 
the country life which they like best. Bertha, on the contrary, takes 
readily to the ways of the great city, although she cares but little for 
the fashionable society that is so eager to take her up, and prefers the 
companionship of her husband and the quiet of her home to the gayest 
assemblage in New York. Occasionally, however, she may be seen at 
some afternoon tea, or dinner, or reception, where Mrs. Hallam is 
proud to introduce her as “my nephew’s wife,” while Mrs. Walker 
Haynes, always politic and persistent, speaks of her as “my friend 
that charming Mrs. Reginald Hallam.” 


THE END. 


806 


SHOOTING “BOB WHITE. 


SHOOTING “BOB WHITE.” 

O N account of his wide distribution over North America, Bob White 
is a very familiar friend to most of us in this country, and nine 
out of ten men among us who have handled a gun at all have burnt 
some powder in order to arrest his rapid flight over the autumn fields. 
A great many who are expert and enthusiastic in hunting him have 
never troubled their memories with his scientific name, which is Ortyx 
Virginianus , nor have they worried about the question whether he is 
a quail or belongs, as some authors assert, to a distinct family, namely, 
that of the Odontophorinse. They enjoy the sport just as much 
whether he be called the Virginian quail, or the colin (which is said to 
be his old Mexican title), or, as in some sections, the partridge, or by 
the apt nickname given on account of the call-note of the male. He 
is a fine plucky bird under all titles, and after he has informed the 
farmers that “ the wheat’s ripe” he will be found waiting for you in 
the stubble. 

On account of the universal friendship felt for him, “ Bob” is 
specially honored by having his name on the statute-books of most of 
our States, and he has been the cause of profound thought to our wise 
legislators, so that in the game-laws it is generally written that the 
closed season when he shall be permitted to whistle in inviolable safety 
shall be from January 1st until October. But all his friends have 
not as yet been able to agree as to exact dates, and the laws for his 
protection vary slightly in different States, and indeed among the 
counties of the same State. This is not fair to him, especially as he is 
not duly notified as to the places where he is safe longest, and we think 
that where his life is in danger there should be a uniform law, that he 
might know what to expect, and not lose his life because he was not 
sufficiently posted to fly over a State or county line a week sooner to a 
place of security. So popular and desirable a citizen as he ought to be 
treated better. He deserves consideration, for he has “ smelt more 
powder” than any soldier in the land. Six weeks in a year are enough 
for him to endanger his life for the enjoyment of his compatriots, 
and those six weeks should begin at the same date through the whole 
country, that he might know when the war was over. The present 
law in some places, that forbids shooting at him until the day after the 
November election, in order to prevent a general slaughter by all who 
could take advantage of the holiday, and stops the bombardment on 
Christmas, is a good one, and should be general. 

Bob would be comparatively happy were it not for the fact that 
there are two kinds of dogs that by nature and by training have a 
special and remarkable faculty for seeking and finding him in his most 
retired retreats and in his most private moments. The worst of it is 
that these dogs do not want him for their own food, but take a demoni- 


SHOOTING “ BOB WHITE.” 


807 


made miserable by the uncertainty of not getting through with break- 
fast without having his attention called from that important matter by 
seeing a great big dog, or several of them, standing near by staring as 
if they had never seen such a sight before. Then, when he does try 
to get away from the staring dogs, bang go the guns before he is half- 
way to the woods, and as likely as not some of his company fall to 
rise no more. 

In England Bob will not thrive. This is unfortunate, for there he 
would have peace from dogs, at least until he was dead and the re- 
triever took hold of him. There the custom of hunting the real par- 
tridge by the help of dogs disappeared fifty years ago, on account of 
the improved agriculture, better-trimmed hedges, closer-cropped stubble, 
and all that gave the birds good hiding and rendered dogs necessary to 
point them out. So now they are beaten up by men and boys walking 
across the field and “driving” them toward the concealed gunners, or 
they are walked up by the sportsmen themselves, who hence need no 
dogs except the retrievers. But, as the same conditions in agriculture 
do not obtain in America, dogs are still in general use here in hunting 
the quail, and Bob has no hope of relief from these enemies until our 
country shall be so well cleared up that he can see their approach. 

His canine foes are the setters and the pointers, and he dislikes and 
fears them both equally. The setters are swifter and more dashing; 
they are also apt to be more stubborn. They, on account of their long 
hair, suffer less from briers. Pointers have some advantages over the 
others, but no absolute decision can be pronounced between them ; 
hunters of long experience will be found to be divided on the question, 
and to incline according to their prejudices rather than their judgment, 
from having favorites of one kind or the other. But, unhappily for 
Bob, good specimens of either kind will be found adequate to finding 
him. 

Bob will not thank me for saying that no man should buy a bird- 
dog without having seen it at work in the field, or having some one on 
whom he can rely who knows the animal. For dogs with the very 
finest pedigree, from having been bred “ in and in” over-much, are 
aptest to be “gun-shy,” — an incurable trouble. A puppy from the 
best kennel in the country (there are good kennels in most of our 
cities), for which a large price has been paid, may be absolutely worth- 
less. The best have the best pedigree, but the worst ones also have 
the same. 

The setters and pointers have the same method of hunting aud 
standing the game. They quarter the field until they find a scent ; 
then, if the game is winded, they run toward it with head erect and 
with a cat-like tread, slowing up as they near the covey until the 
stand is made, with nose pointing out, tail straight, and frequently one 
front paw held up. If the ground-scent is first found, the dog noses 
it and proceeds as before until the stand is made. Darwin surmises 
that the stand of the bird-dog is an arrested leap, inherited from long 
lines of trained ancestors. The inheritance in some cases is very com- 
plete, for some puppies need no training at all, but at three or four 
months will stand birds well the first time they are taken into the field. 


808 


SHOOTING “ BOB WHITEN 


The delight of the hunter in watching the dogs, obedient to a gesture, 
quarter the field, and the stand with quivering lips and flanks trembling 
with excitement, and the backing of the dogs who have not first found 
the game, but take their cue from their more fortunate companion, is 
as great as in the actual shooting of the birds. 

The right gun for quail is the twelve-gauge, and the hammerless 
one is vastly preferable, on account of the diminished danger in bushes 
of exploding a cartridge into yourself or a companion. A gun should 
fit one’s arm and shoulder perfectly, and the inexperienced should pur- 
chase of a gunsmith who is capable of fitting them as accurately as a 
tailor would their clothing. One should have his cartridges loaded by 
an expert to suit his gun, for buying ready-filled cartridges at hap- 
hazard may cause the gun to recoil and the game to be missed, from 
the disproportion of the charge to the weapon. 

In preparing for a hunt, care should be taken that the dogs are not 
allowed to have any meat on that day until the sport is over, as such 
food interferes with their scent. If the hunters are going any distance 
before taking the field, the dogs should have a # place in the carriage, as 
they will have run enough in their actual work, and the extra labor, 
while it may make them more quiet and obedient for the day, rapidly 
wears them out. Many a good dog has grown old before his time 
through the thoughtlessness of his master in neglecting to give him a 
lift. 

As to where to shoot, a few coveys of quail can be found almost 
anywhere in our country, but there are probably no States now where 
they are so abundant as in Virginia and the Carolinas. In parts of 
these States it will not be difficult to find twenty or thirty coveys in a 
day, whereas in the better cultivated parts of Maryland or Pennsyl- 
vania one cannot hope to find more than three or four. Where the 
birds are scarce, however, the more careful search for the single ones, 
when the covey has been scattered, has a zest of its own which is quite 
equal to the pleasure of finding a new covey in every field. The 
scarcity of game calls for better work from the dogs and greater skill 
in the shooter, so that there is a compensation in shooting even where 
the game is not abundant. 

In the settled parts of the country the inevitable sign along the 
borders of the farms, “ No Trespassing with Gun or Dog on this Place 
under Penalty of Fine,” renders it necessary for the hunters to find 
their sport on their own or their friends’ lands, or where they have 
rented shooting rights, or can secure a temporary privilege; for while 
there can be no absolute property in wild game, the owner of land 
has absolute right to forbid any one he chooses to step upon it. A 
great many allow no one for love or money to shoot on their prem- 
ises, on account of danger to cattle and sheep from guns and dogs. 
Some have a sentimental feeling against destruction of the game. 
Some wish to preserve the birds for their own exclusive pleasure, or 
that of their sons or particular friends. So that where to go to shoot 
and how to get the right are primary questions which the hunter has 
to settle according to his means and opportunities. 

So many who pose as sportsmen are really shooting for market that 


SHOOTING “BOB WHITE. 


809 


the farmers in the neighborhood of cities have come to look with sus- 
picion on all strangers who appear with a gun. These, if without in- 
troduction, stand a good chance of being “ run off,” or having to swell 
the resources of the public schools by paying a fine. 

In a region where quail are scarce the sportsman will save himself 
and his dogs a great deal of trouble by making inquiries as to the 
places where the birds have been recently seen or heard to whistle. In 
Maryland and some other parts of the South the inquirer will be in- 
formed, by the antiquated Elizabethan and Miltonic word which has 
survived there among the descendants of English settlers, that a covey 
of quail has been observed to “ use” in a certain field which will be 
pointed out. It is necessary in seeking this kind of game, as indeed 
all kinds, to know something of their habits. Quail ordinarily “ use” 
in fields and pastures, and in the shooting season they are likeliest to 
be found in rag-weed and wheat-stubble during the day, though if 
cover of bushes or woods is near they may be found there early in the 
morning before they have beguu to feed. They seek such protection 
as a defence against hawks and other foes, and frequently by observing 
the circling of a hawk the hunter will get a hint as to the locality of 
the game which both hawk and man are seeking. 

When these birds are resting they sit in a circle, with their heads 
at the circumference, so that they are ready for a speedy departure at 
the first alarm. When a covey has been scattered and driven into a 
wood, it is to be remembered that the hunter is as likely to find his 
birds on the trees as on the ground, for it is a peculiarity of Bob 
White, as distinguished from the quail of other countries, that he does 
not confine himself to the ground. In observing the quail take their 
short flights when startled in the fields, one would hardly think them 
capable of a more prolonged journey in the air ; yet when they are 
migrating they are able to keep up until they have crossed large bodies 
of water, though the feebler ones will in the course of such a flight 
take refuge on a boat or anything that affords them a footing. 

When a covey has been scattered it is a common practice for the 
hunters to call the birds together again toward evening by imitating 
their own whistle, and they will come running from all directions, 
answering on the way, so that if there is light enough left another 
chance is had for a few shots. 

The beginner in wing shooting should remember that the first rule 
is not to be in too much of a hurry in discharging his gun, if he is in 
the open. Most novices have the gun up and the cartridge emptied 
before the bird is twenty feet away ; consequently the shot have not 
scattered, and one might as well have fired with a rifle. Old hunters 
advise to wait until the bird is so far away that you think you cannot 
reach it at all, and then your shot will cover a yard in diameter, and 
you have a good chance of bringing down your game. Of course this 
advice must not be taken too literally. The beginner must also re- 
member that he should single out one bird, and not fire into the 
“ brown” of the whole covey if he hopes to hit anything. Let him 
learn also, if he wishes to be a sportsman, that it is against all rule to 
fire into the covey on the ground or at a bird sitting still : no matter 


810 


SHOOTING “BOB WHITE." 


how anxious he may be to fill his bag, let him never — no, never — de- 
scend to this. He should also be thoughtful enough not to kill all 
of a covey, but leave two or four always to produce the increase of the 
next season. 

A not unusual exhibition of skill in quail-shooting is for the gun- 
ner, when a good stand has been made and the covey is in flight, to 
kill a bird with each barrel of his gun. The best shot that can be 
made in this sport is to watch the flight of two birds until their paths 
cross and to take both with one barrel. 

If shooting large game seems a greater thing than this, we must 
remember that small game and wing shooting present more variety and 
rapidity. 

A pleasant autumn day in the fields with friends, dogs, and guns 
is something to drive the blues away from the most melancholy man 
and to put him in healthy touch with the universe. While there is 
something to be said against all shooting or fishing, except for food, 
on the ground of alleged cruelty, we think Paley has answered these 
objections once for all by showing that the fate of the game that meets 
death at the hands of man is not more severe than that which awaits 
it in the course of nature in sickness or old age. Many of the best 
people think there is no more cruelty in shooting a bird that is fit for 
food than in being one of many who hire a butcher to kill a beef. 

Well-trained dogs in action in the field are a joy to behold, and 
we have known a party of hunters to be so fascinated by looking at a 
fine stand that they allowed the birds to take flight and get away. 
The poet Somerville has described the action of the hunting dog in 
the following lines : 

When Autumn smiles, all-beauteous in decay, 

And paints each checkered grove with various hues, 

My setter ranges in the new-shorn fields, 

His nose in air erect ; from ridge to ridge 
Panting he bounds, his quartered ground divides 
In equal intervals, nor careless leaves 
One inch untried : at length the tainted gales 
His nostrils wide inhale; quick joy elates 
His beating heart, which, awed by discipline 
Severe, he dares not own, but cautious creeps, 

Low cowering, step by step, at last attains 
His proper distance : there he stops at once, 

And points with his instructive nose upon 
The trembling prey. 

When the covey has been found, the stand admired, the first shots 
taken, and the dogs have gone off after the scattered birds, it is a 
beautiful sight to watch them in various parts of the field, or in bushes 
or woods, standing solitary and fixed as statues, waiting for the guns 
to come up, — perfect examples of strong desire under strong restraint. 

And in the increased zest for living, the toned brain and nerves 
and purified blood, in added skill of eye and hand, in larger sympathy 
with nature, many kind and thoughtful men find their justification for 
this exercise. 


Calvin Dill Wilson. 


SHALL I STUDY MEDICINE ? 


811 


SHALL L STUDY MEDLCINE? 

T HERE are in the United States about one hundred and ten thou- 
sand physicians, each of whom is supported, on the average, by 
five hundred and eighty persons, rich and poor, sick and well. About 
twenty-seven hundred physicians die each year, but the medical col- 
leges are graduating a still greater number; so that, in spite of increase 
in population, the profession is becoming more and more crowded. 
Thus, except in special cases, the choice of medicine as a profession is 
not a matter of duty, but purely of inclination. In fact, when we 
consider that in most European countries the physician has an average 
clientele of two or three thousand without being overburdened with 
either work or riches, it is plain that our own medical profession needs 
pruning rather than the addition of fresh grafts. 

What, then, are the inducements to the study of medicine ? Let 
us consider the financial aspect of the question first. The easiest and 
quickest way to a competence is to locate at some country “ Corners,” 
out of reach of competition, and where a living may be expected 
almost from the start. The first year's receipts will be from five to 
eight hundred dollars ; there will be an increase for a year or two, but 
then comes the limit of ambition, and, although the physician is prac- 
tically assured of as good a living as most of his neighbors, he is 
isolated from his natural companions and doomed to a hard routine of 
long drives over rough roads, often at night, and particularly at the 
very seasons when the weather is most inclement. “ Doctoring” may 
pay better than pitching hay, and if the country practitioners repre- 
sented simply the uneducated young men who study medicine “ for 
what it is worth,” our sympathies would be due not to the doctor, but 
to his patients. Unhappily for the former, and fortunately for the 
latter, so many good men are forced by circumstances to practise in the 
country that the standing of country doctors is far higher than their 
meagre recompense would indicate. 

There are also undesirable quarters in most cities which afford a 
paying practice almost from the beginning, but it is difficult for a phy- 
sician thus located either to grow into a better practice or to save 
enough to make a fresh start. While the country doctor may console 
himself with the thought that without himself, or some one in his 
place, much suffering would result, the city resident is as needless as he 
is unfortunate, for his patients could easily send for one of many prac- 
titioners within a few blocks. No better advice can be given to a 
young physician than “ Locate where you are willing to live.” 

Such a choice of residence, however, involves the ability to meet 
expenses for two or three, perhaps four or five, years, without relying 
on a professional income. Several eminently successful physicians 
have stated their first year's collections at from fifteen dollars to two 
hundred and fifty. Recent graduates often seek to associate themselves 
with an established physician, and are much envied if they succeed, 


812 


SHALL I STUDY MEDICINE 1 


yet they not infrequently have to pay for the privilege, and rarely do 
they receive more than a few hundred dollars a year. They have a 
chance, however, of gaining an introduction into a good practice. It 
is some comfort to know that a middle-aged or elderly man has about 
the same difficulties in building up a practice as his younger competitor. 
A physician who moved from one city to another after several years’ 
practice waited four months for his first patient, but eventually gained 
a prominent place in the profession. Another man, already advanced 
in years, left a large village practice to locate in a city, but after two 
or three months gave up the struggle in disgust. 

The average physician becomes “ well established” in from five to 
ten years. His income then, after deducting professional expenses 
(medicines, books, telephone, horse and buggy, etc.), is in the neighbor- 
hood of a thousand dollars. Probably not more than three physicians 
out of a hundred have a practice of ten thousand a year, and such a 
practice, except in a specialty, implies heavy expense and a sacrifice of 
all leisure. 

It is probable that at least a third of all medical services are ren- 
dered for charity, while of the fees charged at ordinary rates the general 
practitioner collects only about sixty per cent. The loss is accounted 
for, in part, by discounts, but largely by the habits of “ dead-beats,” 
those leeches on human society who are fostered by our present laws 
concerning debt. To the really deserving poor, who state their needs 
frankly and are genuinely grateful for favors, it is a pleasure to min- 
ister ; but the dead-beat, with his plausible excuses for temporary 
poverty, his fair promises for the future, his treacherous flattery, and his 
self-indulgence with money that belongs to his creditor, is a creature 
with all the dishonesty of the sneak-thief and the burglar, but without 
the ability of the former or the courage of the latter. Unfortunately, 
the recent graduate, with all his skill in medicine and surgery, cannot 
easily diagnose the dead-beat, so that faith in human nature is rudely 
shaken in the first year’s practice. 

While it is evident that pecuniary reasons alone are insufficient to 
attract men into the medical profession, it is also true that those who 
join its ranks solely from philanthropic motives are not, as a rule, 
highly esteemed either by their colleagues or by their patients. This 
is not peculiar to medicine : in every vocation a direct interest seems 
necessary to prevent dilettanteism. 

Almost every one understands how a physician can work for 
money or for love of doing good ; few appreciate the real main incen- 
tives, — true scientific interest and the spirit of emulation. 

Ambition may be good or evil in medicine as in any other vocation. 
Every physician ought to desire to rank well among his fellows, and a 
large practice, a professorship in a college, an office in a medical society, 
a reputation as a medical writer, are rightly in demand as tangible 
proofs of success. But when such honors are obtained by influence 
with relatives or because of social position, when a candidate for a chair 
in a college or the presidency of a society uses the methods of the ward 
politician, then, even if the coveted prize is obtained, it is a stigma of 
disgrace rather than a mark of honor. There are at least two good 


SHALL I STUDY MEDICINE? 


813 


men for every place of honor in the medical profession, and, as in every 
other walk of life, influence and money usually decide which of the two 
shall be favored ; but, to the glory of the profession be it said, these 
conditions, without proper qualifications, rarely succeed in bringing a 
man to the front. The young man of wealth and leisure will find little 
to attract him in medicine, but if one be interested in the work and 
willing to be industrious he will find influence with physicians already 
prominent, and money, to be levers of tremendous power. It often 
takes two generations to reach success in medicine, the son reaping what 
the father has sowed. 

The life of a medical man devoted to his profession is a*busy one, 
apart from actual practice. He must read and re-read text-books and 
medical periodicals. Societies for the discussion of professional topics 
will occupy about one evening in a week. For his own satisfaction he 
will attend autopsies, witness important operations, and examine inter- 
esting cases in hospitals, as he has opportunity. From time to time it 
will devolve upon him to write papers for medical societies or journals. 
College lecturers often complain that their practice is seriously interfered 
with, but they seldom resign. Undoubtedly many physicians neglect 
all these means of self-education and yet enjoy large practices and are 
accounted successful. But the public is learning to see through this sort 
of medical fraud, and to demand the best, wisest, and most modern 
thought in the consideration of its maladies. 

About fourteen per cent, of the entire number of medical graduates 
drop out of the profession within a few years. Some few never prac- 
tise; others are tempted by better inducements into other fields of work ; 
some are driven to suicide on account of failure ; others succumb to 
contagious diseases ; still more lose their health on account of exposure 
to inclement weather and accident, or on account of mental anxiety. 
Among these we must include those who become insane or who contract 
the alcohol, morphine, or cocaine habit. Worse than all else, a few are 
driven into quackery. Any one may make a mistake in the choice of 
life-work, and it is no discredit to abandon practice. There are plenty 
of honorable employments for unsuccessful physicians : there are schools 
to teach, merchandise to sell, drugs to dispense, news to gather ; at any 
rate there is coal to shovel and wood to saw. It doubtless seems a pity 
to sacrifice the investment of three or four years’ hard work in the 
study of medicine, but it is cheaper than to sacrifice honor and prosti- 
tute medical science to quackery. 

Night-work is a much exaggerated evil of the physician’s life. In 
the first few years of city practice there is not a superabundance of 
either day or night calls, and to one who falls asleep full of appre- 
hensions as to the success of the future, the jingle of the telephone 
breaks in upon his troubled dreams like sweet music. Moreover, partly 
from a growing consideration for the doctor and partly from a realiza- 
tion that it is not only safer but cheaper to summon a physician twice 
in the daytime than once at night, there is not so much of this work 
now as formerly. 

The physician forms many friendships, friendships such as soldiers 
make, knowing that death is likely to break them soon, and so with- 


814 


A WESTERN DAISY MILLER. 


holding that quality of friendship which causes grief at separation. 
He will find much that is good in bad people, much that is evil in those 
whom the world esteems good. Life and death lie in his hands : let him 
not sacrifice life to too radical experimentation, nor, as more frequently 
happens, to the conservatism and ignorance of modern methods that 
sometimes lurk behind white whiskers and a good sick-room manner. 
The physician is the confessor of more people than the priest, and 
the fact that society is not shaken as by an earthquake proves how 
honorably its secrets are kept. Throughout his life, the physician 
must sacrifice time, convenience, and social obligations. If he would 
avoid misery, he must accept the inevitable cheerfully and make the 
most of leisure as he chances upon it. 

Such are the demands and the rewards of a medical career. The 
profession, overcrowded as it is, needs men with strong bodies, strong 
minds, strong consciences, and good education. It offers nothing but 
disappointment to the mere money-maker, nothing but failure to the 
idler : it is already disgraced by too many uneducated members. It 
has a specious success for the schemer ; for the enthusiast it makes an 
interesting lesson of every case ; it throws the zest of the warrior into 
every operation. The true physician is a lotus-eater : whatever he may 
find unpleasant in his own life-work, no other calling will satisfy him. 

A. L. Benedict. 


A WESTERN DAISY MILLER. 

I T was not quite dark, but the Smudgers were at supper. 

“ Where’s Leila?’ 7 inquired the judge, helping himself to butter 
by simply reaching half-way across the table with the carving-knife. 

“ Here she is,” said a clear voice at the door. She came in, flushed 
and radiant, and took a seat by her father. 

“ Guess who I saw on the street just now,” she continued, gazing 
in triumph at the table-full, which included the numerous Smudgers 
and several boarders. 

“The parachute-man, I reckon,” said her small brother, as con- 
temptuously as a big mouthful permitted. “ He’s been loafin’ roun’ 
the co’te-house square fur th’ las’ week in them red tights o’ his’n. He 
thinks he’s a daisy.” 

“ Parachute-man, indeed !” exclaimed Leila. “ It was the great 
violinist who plays to-night at the Opera-House. I recognized him 
as soon as I laid eyes on him. He is exactly like his pictures. So 
handsome ! An ideal artist.” 

Her vis-d-vis, Hank Scales, looked blackly at her. He had ridden 
in from his ranch to take her to the concert, but this praise from her 
of one he privately considered a “ dago” was gall and wormwood to 
him. He had not the tact to conceal his thought. 

“ He handsome? . . . That fiddler? . . . Why, he looks like the 
Wizard Oil fakir that was here last month.” 


A WESTERN DAISY MILLER. 


815 


Leila glanced at his dark face, — a mere sweep of her eyelashes, but 
it reduced him to a sulky silence. 

The “ great violinist” was looking about him in the Lone Star 
Hotel dining-room. 

“ Herr Gott !” he said to the man next him, “ why do we come to 
this gottverlassen hole ?” 

Dietrich, the ’cellist, shrugged his shoulders. 

“ O, behiite ! Ask the manager.” 

“ Ach !” said Fraulein Aagot Lind, on the other side, “ he thinks to 
prove whether music hath charms to soothe the savage breast. For my 
part, I have doubts on the subject.” 

“Do you think you will sing 1 Bliite nur, liebes Herz,’ to-night?” 
asked the violinist, with sardonic amusement. 

“ As much as you will play the Zigeunerweisen,” she replied. “ It 
makes no difference, since everything will be ten miles over their heads.” 

The manager came in and seated himself, laughing ; he had over- 
heard her remark. 

“ The natives call this Cosmopolis,” he observed. “ Some of the 
rich ones have been around the world, and they send their daughters 
away to be educated.” 

“ And they return and marry these,” said Fraulein Lind, glancing 
over the room and waving her fork, “ and live on this,” picking up a 
bit of fried steak with the same weapon. “Ach ! Gott in Himmel !” 

The manager winked at Dietrich and looked at Lind. 

“ And what did you live on in Guldbrandsal ?” he asked, innocently. 

“We had kraut and kartoffeln frittes, did not we?” said the violin- 
ist, more sardonically amused than before. “ Still, the memory of 
those vanished joys makes not the beef of Ultima Thule any the less 
like leather. Pah !” as he tasted the water by his plate. “ Take it 
away,” he said to the negro waiter; “it is not fit for the bath. Bring 
us some beer.” 

An hour or two later the company sat on the stage of the in- 
describable barn called the Opera-House. 

Mora rested his violin on his knee and surveyed the audience with 
a sarcastic smile. His brown hair was worn like a curly wig, his 
moustache curved fiercely upward like the horns of a Welsh bull, his 
beard was forked like a swallow’s tail ; his pale face was illumined by 
a vivid pair of laughing greenish-gray eyes. 

He threw his head up, disclosing his smooth white throat, and 
laughed under his breath, while the others were playing the Schumann 
A major Quartet. 

The society -leader of Cosmopolis, Mrs. Fitz-Muggin, sat just in 
front of Tinola Lufty, the Comanche interpreter. She wore white 
silk, falling off her shoulders, with a plastron of fresh violets; a neck- 
lace and coronet of diamonds, genuine, and big as chestnuts. 

The men surrounding her were in correct evening dress, and one 
of them, Chandos, stamped his note-paper with the crest of an English 
earl. 


816 


A WESTERN DAISY MILLER. 


Tinola wore a grass-green cashmere, a blue velvet hat with a 
scarlet bow, a set of garnets and rhine-stones, and waved a Japanese 
fan. Beside her sat Lone Wolf in broadcloth, a silk hat at his feet. 

The Fitz-Muggin surveyed the stage and audience through her 
gold-mounted lorgnette, and chattered audibly in approved cosmopolitan 
fashion. 

Tinola stared straight ahead of her without the dicker of an eye- 
lash. She had been to Carlisle, and knew how to behave. 

Fraulein Lind in a much battered pink satin, a limp back-broken 
ostrich feather in her ash-colored hair, opened her wide mouth and 
sang superbly “ Voglein, wohin so schnell?” 

Leila, who sat near the front with Hank Scales, looked at her 
with disdain in her nostrils. 

“ Mitts !” she whispered to her escort, who had on his riding- 
leathers; “ white ones, and dirty at that ! And a thousand creases in 
her old gown ! What does she take us for?” She glanced down at her 
own costume of sea-green velvet set off with pearls and aqua-marines. 

Mora caught her disdainful glance with appreciation. 

“ Blessed Virgin !” he thought; “ what eyes ! What hair ! What 
lips ! . . . and what a figure ! . . . Is she a Cosmopolite, I wonder, 
or only a flower of the field ?” 

“ He sees me,” she thought, tingling with gratified vanity. 

He was near enough to watch the changing expression and color 
of her beautiful face as he played. Her soft lips parted like a ripe 
pomegranate; tears welled up in her dark blue eyes. There was 
an unusual hush in the half-empty hall, for Mora had rapped im- 
periously for silence on the stand before him, transfixing the volatile 
Fitz-Muggin with his glittering green eyes. She giggled, dropped 
her glass, and subsided. 

Tinola carried her programme to the hotel and pinned it upside 
down on the wall. 

The Fitz-Muggin made a wad of hers to throw at Stanhope Cecil 
Chandos. 

Leila folded hers tightly about a piece of wedding-cake and 
dreamed of Ilario Mora. 

Early the next morning, for the Smudgers breakfasted at seven, 
she put on her hat and went for a walk. 

She passed the hotel irresolutely, turned back, went into the parlor, 
and hurriedly punched the electric button, then stood staring at it with 
round eyes and cheeks like the oleanders in her belt. 

The flippant negro waiter touched her arm to call attention to his 
presence. 

“ Oh !” she said, startled ; “ Jim, has the concert company gone 

“ No’m ; but dey gwine tuh tek de nine-fawty dis mawnin’ fuh 
Noo-Er-fecms.” 

“Well . . ,” she hunted about in a card-case, “ here — -just take 
my card up to Sig - nor Mora. I want to see him.” 

Mora was in bed. He took the specimen of Spencerian chirogra- 
phy and looked lazily from it to the negro. 


A WESTERN DAISY MILLER . 


817 


u Who is this Miss Leila — how do you call her?” 

u Smudger ; Miss Leila Smudger, sail. Said tuh be de puttiest 
’ooman in de State, sah.” 

“ You do not say so !” 

“ Yezzah. Her po’trick hez ornumented de pages ob one ob our 
fus’ mag’zines, sah. She’s a perfeshnal beauty, sah.” 

“ Is it possible !” softly exclaimed Mora, turning over on an elbow 
and looking up at the mulatto from beneath his ruffled wig. 

“I shall be delighted to make her acquaintance. You will ask 
her to come in.” 

“ Sah !” exclaimed Jim. 

“ Tell her to come up.” 

“She is a lady, sah. Jedge Smudger is one ob our fus’ lawyers, 
sah, an’ mos’ gin’ally on de half-cock, sah. Lightnin’ on de triggah 
an’ de bull’s-eye ever’ pop. I begs tuh be escused f ’om ca’yin’ de lady 
dat message, sah.” 

“ Oh, I see !” said Mora, falling on his back again and perusing 
the cracks in the ceiling with his sardonic smile. 

“ To rise, or not to rise, that is the question. What does she look 
like, this beauty ?” . 

“ P’obably, sah, yuh might ’a’ observe’ her a-settin’ neah de front, 
las’ night. Dressed in blue velvet, sah, widout a hat. Yaller ha’r 
an’ blue ” 

“ Oh, indeed !” Mora sat up, uttering fervid Italian exclamation- 
points. “ Tell her I give myself the great pleasure to see her at once.” 

He pointed to the door and put one foot to the floor. Jim vanished, 
grinning. 

In about ten minutes, Mora entered the parlor, perfumed as the 
modest violet, and bowing profoundly. 

Miss Smudger advanced to meet him, holding out an ungloved 
hand. She had tied a pair of pink gloves, a yard long, to her parasol 
handle. 

“ I am afraid you will think it very strange,” she said, with a soft, 
slipshod articulation, “ but I wanted to thank you for your beautiful, 
lovely music. I was so afraid you would go away before I could see 
you.” 

“ I should have been heart-broken to have not seen you,” he replied, 
looking into her blue eyes with his vivid smile. 

“ You are very kind to say so,” she answered. “ Can you talk to 
me for a few moments ?” 

“ With all the pleasure in the world.” 

They sat on a plush Ute-d-Ute, with faces not two feet apart. 

“I shall lose my breakfast,” he thought, “but she is dazzling. I 
never saw such complexion out of Holland, or such hair anywhere. 
Natural color, too.” 

Her silk dress was cut away at the throat, displaying a turquoise 
chain. Her hat was covered with roses, and her parasol with lace. 
She looked as if she were ready for a lawn-party. 

“ I said I came to thank you,” she was saying ; “ but that is not all. 
I want to study music some more.” 

Vol. LIT.— 52 


818 


A WESTERN DAISY MILLER. 


“ Ah ?” Mora leaned back for a better perspective. “ Then you 
play ? On what ?” 

“ Oh, violin, of course. I took some lessons in St. Louis. But I 
am not satisfied. I do not get the right tone. I want to play like 
you do. Do you teach music ?” 

Mora’s peculiar smile flitted over his face curiously as he looked 
steadily at her. 

“ This, then, is fame !” he thought. Aloud he said, “ Si, — yes. I 
teach.” 

“ Where ?” 

“Oh, in the Conservatorium in — in New York.” 

“ Then I will go there. When does it open ?” 

“ Open ? What ? I do not comprehend.” 

“ The Conservatory. When can I go ?” 

“ Ah, yes. . . . Any time. I go there in — October, I think.” 

Leila got up and looked down at him sidewise under her long 
lashes. 

“ I sing, too. I don’t think much of Frowline Lind’s voice. Is 
she related to Jenny Lind ?” 

Mora bit bis lip and pinched the plush. 

“I think not. So you did not like her singing ? Why?” 

“ Oh, because. I don’t know. She is so ugly. Why don’t you 
have a pretty woman ?” 

Mora looked up into her angelic face and pulled at his forked 
beard. 

“ Ah ! Beautiful women and fine singers are not always to be dis- 
covered together, unfortunately. If I might have you, now !” 

She smiled down at him. 

“Will you sing for me?” he said, caressingly. 

“ I am dreadfully out of practice, but I reckon I can sing some- 
thing. I know that ‘Tell me, my Heart,’ that Frowline Lind sang.” 

“Do you?” He opened the square piano and ran his fingers over 
the keys with a grimace. 

“Pretty bad, isn’t it?” she said. “ Do you know the accompani- 
ment ?” 

“ Perhaps.” He picked it out, avoiding the worst keys, glanced at 
her, and nodded. 

He sat looking down speechless, when she finished the song. 

She leaned against the piano, one lovely hand dangling over the 
key-board, which now and then she lightly touched. 

“ You thought I couldn’t sing,” she said, amused, appreciating his 
evident embarrassment. 

“ You have a beautiful voice,” he said, lifting his eyes suddenly, 
“ but — you cannot sing.” 

“ Oh-h ! thank you !” she said, with circumflex accents of sar- 
casm. “I am much obliged. I studied singing in Philadelphia all last 
winter.” 

“ Do not be angry with me,” he implored, catching the dangling 
hand as she turned away. “ Did I not say you had a beautiful voice ?” 

He kissed her fingers penitently. 


A WESTERN DAISY MILLER. 


819 


“ Yes; but it was worse than nothing to say I could not sing,— to 
my face.” 

“ That was unpardonable,” he said ; “ and such a face ! But you 
will study. You will be a great singer some day, and then you will 
forgive me.” 

“ Well,” she replied, somewhat mollified, “ maybe I will. But I 
am going to study violin, not voice.” 

u Both,” he entreated, taking her other hand also, as if in illus- 
tration. “ And you will come to New York in October?” His flexi- 
ble voice uttered the commonplace question with unimagined ardor. 
Her color deepened. 

“ I reckon so, — if pa doesn’t object.” 

Several people, Dietrich and Schulz of the company among them, 
came in, attracted by the singing. 

“ I must be going” she added, hastily. “Are you coming here 
again ?” 

“ I am afraid not.” He followed her to the door. “ A rivedet'd” 

She did not understand, but she shook hands with him, smiled at 
him, and went away. 

“ Herr Gott !” said Dietrich, nudging Schulz in the ribs, “ Mora 
has made a mash, as these Americans say. Nicht wahr?” 

As Leila left the hotel she came face to face with Hank Scales. 

“Well, did you see him?” Scales inquired, with grim polite- 
ness. 

“I did,” she replied, lifting her blue eyes calmly to his dark 
face. 

If she anticipated any objection on his part she was disappointed. 
He quietly lifted his broad-brimmed hat, stood aside to allow her to 
pass, and watched her meditatively as she walked nonchalantly down 
the street toward home. 

Mora’s fellow-musicians looked at each other and shrugged their 
shoulders when he consented to teach under Ignace Wowski at the 
Conservatory. 

He kept much to himself, playing only now and then for fabulous 
sums at concerts and drawing-rooms. He was especially careful to 
avoid being seen in public with Miss Smudger ; and for the sake of 
seeing her alone twice a week, he shut his ears to his outraged artistic 
conscience and praised her voice, which the director had pronounced 
divine. 

It was Mora’s first experience with a woman of her type, and, to 
his intense surprise, the end of the last term found him in a state of 
feverish uncertainty and excitement. 

He had painted for Leila a future as a singer that dazzled her 
imagination and roused her pride. She had studied with an ardor that 
surprised him. But he had not suspected her of subtlety, nor himself 
of prudence. He had never worn a curb and check-rein before, and 
he felt dangerous. 

Miss Smudger was to make her first appearance as a singer at one 
of the Faculty Recitals, with the great honor of the Herr Direktor at 


820 


A WESTERN DAISY MILLER. 


the piano, and the greater honor, did she but know it, of Ilario Mora 
on the violin, as accompanists. She made a sensation, being the only 
pupil on the programme. She was tremendously overdressed, for her 
costume would have been appropriate at a prima-donna’s triumph. 
But the judge was wealthy, she was beautiful, and this is a free country, 
and so she wore the very latest combination of New York and Paris 
audacity, her lace stiff with pearls, her shoe-buckles set with real 
stones, her fan painted by Lemaire expressly for the occasion, the 
entire costume ablaze with diamonds. 

After the concert, she was directed by Wowski to his private parlor, 
with the information that Mora desired to see her. 

She swept into the room frowning. 

“Herr Wowski said you wanted to see me,”, she said, coldly. 
“ Now I am not used to having messages like that sent to me. Why 
didn’t you wait in the organ-room and say what you had to say there ? 
Or at the reception ?” 

“ Forgive me,” Mora murmured, bending to kiss her hand, “ but I 
wanted to see you alone. You know the customs of this place. I had 
to ask permission of Wowski to see you at all, and the reception-rooms 
are too full of people with eyes and ears.” 

He led her to a sofa out of line of the door, and after a second’s 
hesitation she sat down beside him. He was much excited. His eyes 
were glowing. 

“ My queen — Reine d’Amour ! How beautiful thou art !” he ejacu- 
lated. 

“ Is that all you sent for me to listen to ?” she asked, disdainfully, 
but her eyes were downcast and the hands in her lap trembled. 

Mora caught one of them to his heart. 

“ Ah, no ! Leila, listen. I love you, love you, love you,” a 
crescendo of intensity that made her blush crimson. “Be mine; be 
my wife. My angel ! Ah ! thou shalt live the life of dreams.” 

“Life of dreams! With a music-teacher in a Conservatory?” 

He threw his head back and laughed despite his excitement. 

“ Oh, thou ! thou innocent one ! Carissima, thou a Cosmopolite 
and not to know that for a year have I buried alive myself, for a year 
have taught idiots, for a year have forsworn fame and reputation, to 
be near you, to see you, to speak to you ! I, Ilario Mora, whom kings 
have crowned !” 

She looked shyly at him, and her lips quivered. 

“ I thought you played remarkably well,” she stammered. 

“ I !” he continued, smiling sardonically. “ I who am wealthy ! 
Why, Craig-y-Nos itself compares not with the House of Delight on 
the Mustapha SupSrieure, with the splendor on the Mediterranean, the 
gold of the orange and the red of the oleander on the granite wall. 
Ah !” he set his teeth together, he put an imperious arm about her 
delicate waist, “ come, — come ; let me teach you what life, what happi- 
ness, what heaven are.” 

His lips burnt upon her peachy cheek ; her heart suffocated beneath 
his hand. A divine color suffused her face, her throat, her trembling 
bosom. She pressed a gleaming hand upon his buoyant curls and held 


A WESTERN DAISY MILLER. 821 

her scarlet mouth to his kiss, when a voice at the door made her leap 
to her feet and set her diamonds a-shiver. 

“ Hank Scales !” she ejaculated, the color ebbing from her face. 
“ Where — where did you come from?” 

Scales glanced from her agitated face to the man beside her. 

“ From home,” he replied. “ You forgot to send me an invitation 
to the concert, but I came without one.” He paused a moment. “ I 
thought,” he continued, grimly, “that you were to marry me, but I 
hear that you are to marry this Mr. Mora.” 

Mora leaned from the sofa and took the hand hanging by Leila’s 
side. 

“ It is quite true,” he replied, softly : “ you have been correctly 
informed.” 

“ I prefer,” said Scales, more quietly than before, “ to be answered 
by Miss Smudger herself.” 

Mora smiled up at her. 

Her knees trembled, she .sank down again beside him and turned 
her beautiful head aslant to look at Scales. 

“ It is true,” she said. “ I am awfully sorry, Hank. Indeed I 
am.” 

“ Thank you,” said Scales. “ Excuse my intrusion, but I did not 
believe it could be true, and reckoned I had better come to head- 
quarters. Being neither a dago nor a fiddler, I am not in it.” 

“ What is that you call me?” exclaimed Mora, fiercely. 

“ I called you a dago and a fiddler ; and, what is more, you are a 
liar.” 

Mora leaped to his feet. 

“ I suppose you must have told Miss Smudger you were not a 
married man?” 

“ What do you know about me ?” retorted Mora, shaking with 
passion. 

The ranchman eyed him with cool composure. 

“ When did you get a divorce from your wife?” 

“ I have no wife,” cried Mora. 

“ No ? Then perhaps you will tell us who this lady is ?” He 
went in two strides to the door and brought in a figure, pale, travel- 
stained, and hysterical. 

“Frowline Lind !” exclaimed Leila. 

“Let me introduce Mrs. Mora,” said Scales, calmly. 

“ Ilario !” wailed the Lind, extending two good-sized hands and 
advancing upon the violinist. 

Mora recoiled, exclaiming, “ My God, Leila, it is false ! I have a 
divorce ” 

“ He has not,” cried Aagot, looking fiercely upon Leila. “ Believe 
him not. He lies when he does say so. Ah ! So this is why I was 
sent to Norway. Herr Gott ! I left my child and yours, Mora, to 
cross the ocean with this good man, who of all the world did have the 
heart to save you from disgrace.” 

“ Beast !” shrieked Mora. “ Get out of my sight. I will kill you. 
— Leila, my darling !” 


822 


THANKSGIVING. 


He advanced with outstretched hands to Leila, who stood white and 
petrified, staring upon them. 

Scales also stepped toward her, saying, softly, — 

“ Leila!” 

“ I hate you !” she cried, suddenly, snapping her fan in two, fling- 
ing it upon the floor, and placing a shining foot upon it. “ I hate 
every last one of you. All three !” 

She looked Scales in the face. “ I despise you !” She veered pas- 
sionately toward Mora. “ I could murder you ! ” She flamed upon the 
unfortunate Aagot : “ Take him — and welcome !” 

She rushed past them to the door. Mora attempted to intercept 
her, but Scales swept him out of her path, and the heavy door fell 
behind her with a resounding bang. 

Claude M. Girardeau. 


THANKSGIVING. 

L ORD, I give thanks ! 

Last year, Thou knowest, my best ambitions failed : 
My back with scourgings of defeat was flailed ; 

My eyes felt oft the sharp salt wash of tears ; 

No guerdon blessed the tireless toil of years ; 

Fast in the snares my helpless feet were tied. 

Yet in my woes Thou didst with me abide. 

Lord, I give thanks ! 

Lord, I give thanks ! 

Last year my one lone ship came back to me, 

A ruined wreck of what she used to be, 

No cargo in her hold, storm-stained and scarred. 

O Lord, thou knowest that it was hard, was hard, 

To watch her drifting hulk with hopeless eye. 

Yet in my desolation Thou wert nigh. 

Lord, I give thanks ! 

Lord, I give thanks ! 

Last year the one I loved the dearest died, 

And like a desert waste became the wide 

And weary world. Love’s last sweet star went out : 

Blackness of darkness wrapped me round about. 

Yet in the midst of my mad misery, 

Thou lent’st Thy rod and staff to comfort me. 

Lord, I give thanks ! 


Susie M. Best. 


LIVING PICTURES IN THE LOUVRE. 


823 


LIVING PICTURES IN THE LOUVRE. 

E YES and brain soon tire of the critical scrutiny of canvases. At 
the first symptom of weariness, it is generally best to succumb 
and leave the gallery. There are times, however, when it is as well to 
stay. A glass of wine somehow makes room for another course at a 
table-d’hdte when one rashly thinks himself at the limit of his capacity. 
So in the Louvre I have sometimes recovered my art appetite by taking 
a draught of humanity, — that is, turning for a time from the painted 
pictures to the living pictures, the people who walk and strut and gaze 
and gape and ply the brush and pencil up and down its interminable 
galleries. 

The central attraction of the Salon carr6, which is itself the central 
attraction of the Louvre, is an old man, less than five feet tall, with a 
weazen face, a bald head, a pointed white beard, a pair of bead-like 
eyes, and a large red nose on which spectacles are precariously borne. 
His expression is that of a philosophic setting hen, part pride, part 
wisdom, part defiance. In the matter of his form, the unexpected 

always happens. The right shoulder is several inches lower than the 

left. His talon-like fingers point in all directions. His elbows pro- 
trude in a way to make a dude envious. His legs are of unequal 

lengths. The line of his back is a semicircle. His feet are turned 

in exactly opposite directions, thereby recalling those puzzling oral- 
arithmetic problems of our childhood in which A went one way 
and B another. Had we not been told that Mother Goose was an old- 
fashioned American lady who scarcely ever left Boston and who certainly 
never thought of going to Paris, we should feel sure that we had found 
the inspiration of her quatrain, — 

There was a crooked man 
Who walked a crooked mile 
And found a crooked sixpence 
Upon a crooked stile. 

This crooked man of the Louvre has painted a crooked picture. 
He and his picture are part and parcel of each other. Though I have 
come early and left late, I have never seen them apart. The combi- 
nation — the crooked man and the crooked picture — attracts a larger 
crowd than any chef-d’oeuwe in the room. That the man enjoys this 
prominence is plain. Attention forebodes trade, and, whatever his 
minor motives may be, he is here primarily for trade. He stopped 
working at least a fortnight ago, and would have had his easel ordered 
away before this, had he not kept within the letter of the rules of the 
gallery by the occasional use of a dry brush, a transparent subterfuge 
very common with needy artists. 

His picture represents the Salon carre itself on a canvas of about 
two feet by four. That it does not represent every square inch of the 
room and every picture on the walls is due to the laws of optics, not to 


824 


LIVING PICTURES IN THE LOUVRE. 


any lack of zeal on the part of the painter. It is an album of costuming, 
a treatise on anthropology, a dictionary of form, a cyclopaedia of color, 
and a nineteenth-century summary of the artistic centuries, all in one, 
— a gorgeous souvenir of a visit to Paris. Think of the glory of re- 
turning to America with three-fourths of the Salon carr6 in one’s trunk 
to brag about — and pay duty on ! If this crooked old man has failed 
to produce a true work of art, he yet deserves to be rewarded for the 
originality of his idea and his sublime, fakir-like faith in the total art- 
depravity of the buying public. 

The Salon carr6 has a lean, wrinkled, hungry-looking woman also, 
who long ago bundled off her youthful illusions in the boat that returns 
not (see Gleyre’s beautiful “ Illusions perdues”), — all but one : she 
still believes that she is fair. Her skirt is a Dolly Varden pattern, 
— enormous roses on a rusty black ground ; her basque a brilliantly- 
spangled satin, trimmed with tattered lace. A soiled yellow silk hand- 
kerchief is knotted about her scrawny neck. And oh for a woman’s 
tongue to describe her hat ! — a wide-spreading saffron lace affair, be- 
dight with gay flowers and blazing ribbons. Not all this butterfly 
apparel, nor the paint which is as thick on her face as on her pallet 
or canvas, can hide the truth that she is round-shouldered, hollow- 
chested, and tallow-faced. She has just finished copying Murillo’s 
“ Immaculate Conception,” a specialty of hers, I take it, as she has 
done others since I came to Paris. Perched awkwardly on a stool so 
high that a person behind her cannot help seeing the holes in her 
stockings, she too is wielding the dry brush and looking for a customer. 
Now and then she lays her hat aside, displaying a pretentious affecta- 
tion of a fillet about her grizzled hair, and steps down and walks back- 
ward to take in the effect of the insipidity of her simpering copy. 

This, then, is art, and this shrivelled, painted travesty of a woman 
and that twisted, avaricious piece of a man are artists, when youthful 
illusions are gone and the problem of bread and butter is uppermost, 
In them cleverness has gone to seed; servility has crystallized. They 
are incarnations of blasted hope, a memento mori to exuberant ambition, 
the very nightmares of art. And there may have been a time when 
they were eager, impetuous, soulful. “ It is with men as with trees,” 
wrote George Eliot. “ If you lop off their finest branches, into which 
they were pouring their young life-juice, the wounds will be healed 
over with some rough boss, some odd excrescence ; and what might 
have been a grand tree expanding into liberal shade is but a whimsical 
misshapen trunk. Many an irritating fault, many an unlovely oddity, 
has come of a hard sorrow, which has crushed and maimed the nature 
just when it was expanding into plenteous beauty, and the trivial, 
erring life, which we visit with our harsh blame, may be but the un- 
steady motion of a man whose best limb is withered.” 

Art has its cant as well as religion, and cant in either sphere marks 
arrested growth. In the Grande Galerie, a young fellow who has 
stopped growing, artistically, is copying the Saint Sebastian of Guido. 
At twenty he is a slave to cant; his brush-strokes mean no more to him 
than pious words to a pietist ; they cost him no more effort. Facility 
has been his idol, and he has his reward, — a picture a day. His face 


LIVING PICTURES IN THE LOUVRE. 


825 


has not a single token of nobility. He does not stand for what might 
have been ; he is not even a wreck, and in that he is a more pitiable 
object than the crooked old man of the Salon cariA He is irretrievably 
small because he was born small, with small possibilities of growth. 

Studious, conscientious copying of the masters is undoubtedly good 
for both hand and brain, and we do find unflinching devotion to high 
ideals among copyists. Two girls, for instance, attract me strongly. 
One has been working for at least three weeks before Leonardo’s Mona 
Lisa. Her pale features are exquisitely chiselled. She is fair-haired, 
dreamy-eyed, spirituelle , a Parisian Hulda. She feels the beauty and 
wonder of Leonardo’s masterpiece in every fibre of her sensitive, artistic 
being. The other is a veritable Miriam, a superb black-eyed, black- 
liaired, olive-skinned creature, and her picture is L6on B6nounville’s 
“ Saint-Francs d’Assise mourant b6nit sa ville natale.” Her touch is 
the less delicate and sympathetic, but it has the more verve. Neither 
will spend her life copying. One will attempt to force the recognition 
of the world ; the other will wait patiently, even timidly, for it to come. 
Both may fail of recognition, but both will do work worthy of souls. 

Equally serious with these young women, and combining with even 
more of the consciousness of genius the studied carelessness of a man 
of the world, is a young man who is copying Delacroix’s “ Dante et 
Virgile.” His dress, as well as his choice of a master, declares him 
an ardent romanticist. If the fever of Paris gayety does not sap his 
energies, he will do grand things by and by. 

A ten-year-old lad becomes so infatuated with gazing long at Paul 
Potter’s “ La Prairie” that he fishes out of his trousers-pocket a dirty 
piece of paper and a stub of a pencil and sketches the principal animal 
figures with surprising skill. He, it may be, is the truest genius of 
them all. 

The picture-viewers are of three kinds : 

1. Those who know absolutely nothing about art and who do not 
pretend to know. 

2. Those who have a confused smattering of artists’ names and art 
phrases. 

3. Art connoisseurs, or those whose love of beauty and ardent 
spirit of inquiry will ultimately land them in connoisseurship. 

The first are mainly people out for a holiday stroll. They drop 
into the Louvre as they would into an auction, a cofi-concert , or a circus, 
without a guide-book and without definite purpose. Here, for instance, 
is a middle-aged peasant couple. In spite of the bravery of a silver 
buckle in his hat and a mirror-like polish on his clumsy shoes, the man 
would attract no notice by himself. His scrupulous neatness and short 
black frock are shared with many other provincials in Paris. But the 
woman in any crowd would raise a stare, partly by her dress and 
partly by her aggressive personality. She wears a stiff white cap, the 
strings of which are untied for freedom’s sake. It is purposely shoved 
back, and shows a luxuriant growth of rather coarse black hair. Heavy 
gold finger-rings and huge ear-rings lend a barbaric touch. Her dress- 
skirt is not unlike that now in vogue with Paris bicyclistes: only by 


826 


LIVING PICTURES IN THE LOUVRE. 


way of apology can it be said to cover the knees. Her sinewy legs are 
encased in tight-fitting black stockings, and her generous feet in low 
black slippers. Her dress-waist is cut low about the neck and has 
puffed sleeves. The front of both waist and skirt is protected by a 
crisp, blue-checkered apron. A black silk kerchief is loosely knotted 
over her shoulders. Her skin (she cannot be said to have a com- 
plexion) is of the color and (apparently) of the consistency of sole- 
leather ; it certainly has been thoroughly cured by years of ploughing, 
sowing, and reaping. 

She judges a picture with both hands on her hips, and when dis- 
approval appears in her eye, one trembles for the picture. When she 
is actually bored, she strides across the floor to an open window, puts 
her elbows on its balcony rail, lays her leathery chin in her leathery 
hands, crosses her sturdy legs, and in this street-loafer attitude refreshes 
her mind. Her fist is capable of a sledge-hammer blow. Her husband 
(yeoman though he is) would hardly be a match for her. He knows it 
and is visibly proud of it. I have seen Whitechapel hags rouse their 
shrivelled or bloated selves to fight like fiends, but she, if once she 
were roused, would fight like a god. In fact, she is a modern type of 
the plough woman of mythology. If Joan of Arc had been a peasant 
of this type, there would have been no mystery about her military 
prowess. She is a masculine woman, in the best sense, and there is as 
\rital a difference between her masculinity and the masculinity of the 
fast woman of the period as there is between her husband and the 
boulevardier. 

Even more of an anomaly in Paris is a jolly Irishman in the Salle 
La Caze, — so much of an anomaly, in fact, that he himself realizes it 
and is trying his best to make out how he comes to be there. I have 
been watching him fof a full half-hour, and during that time he has 
not so much as looked at a picture, he has been so occupied knitting 
his brows over his problem. He is a study in red, green, and black. 
His face is red, his hair is red, and his side-whiskers are red. He 
wears a rusty black velvet coat, very much rubbed at the elbows but 
brave with green buttons, a soft black felt hat cocked rakishly on one 
side, a flowing green necktie, and green velvet trousers relieved by a 
black woollen patch on the seat. He carries in his hand a green-tasselled 
cane, and in his head, you may be sure, a fund of green imaginings. 

In the Grande Salle Frar^aise, before my favorite Troyon “Boeufs 
se rendant au labeur” (a picture in which a peasant and his oxen are 
glorified by a transcendently beautiful morning light), I find a raw 
country lad with wooden shoes, ill-fitting clothes, an unshaven face, 
and unkempt hair. A tear furrows its way down his cheek as he sees 
on canvas the free open-air life he has left forever. He has come to 
Paris to make his fortune, poor fellow, and he will have a sorry time 
of it for a while in that garb; but Paris will gradually conventionalize 
him and polish him, as it does sooner or later every man who enters it. 
And by and by, when he comes to the Louvre, he will be too well bred 
to show any feeling even if he meets just such another neat, wrinkled, 
cheery French grandam as he sees now puzzling out the meaning of 
a picture near the Troyon. 


VICTORY. 


827 


The omnipresent priest must be mentioned here, because he takes 
art as he takes life, — in his official capacity. He stands long before 
punctured and truncated saints with a rapt professional admiration, 
casting only longing sheep’s-eyes at the secular nymphs and nudities, 
except he feel called upon to rest, as he often does, in the Galerie 
Daru, on the walls of which Watteau, Boucher, and Van Loo appear. 
It is surprising how suddenly he is seized with fatigue in the indifferent 
transit of this not long gallery. 

The second kind of picture-viewers are largely tourists, who are 
doing the art-galleries as they are doing Europe, — for effect. Of these 
the most flagrantly superficial are the Cook excursionists. Every now 
and then a Cook party appears, thirty or forty strong, to the terror and 
disgust of the true picture-lovers. The latter are so sure, from a bitter 
experience, of being jostled by the crowd and distracted by the noise 
that they beat a hasty retreat when the rumble of the party’s approach 
begins to be heard like distant thunder. 

A Cook party halted the other day in the Grande Galerie opposite 
Murillo’s magnificent work “ La Cuisine des Anges.” An artist’s copy 
in front of the Murillo completely shut off the view of the latter from 
the party. Nevertheless, the guide parroted his usual story, gesticu- 
lating wildly, the while, in the direction of the copyist’s easel. The 
worn-out sight-seers dragged themselves to seats several yards away. 
The listless gazed vacantly into space. The eager hung upon the lips 
of the guide as though he were a great critic or a great artist, and 
scribbled furiously in their note-books under the conviction that they 
were studying art. The harangue over, the entire party moved on. 
Not one of them had seen the wonderful original ; not one of them 
had made an effort to see it. Many supposed they had seen it, and 
that answered their purpose as well. 

The third kind of picture- viewers need no description. They are 
easily distinguished by an air of studious leisure as far removed from 
the gormandizing rush of the second class as it is from the careless 
sauntering of the first. They are the brushless artists, who bear the 
same relation to art that silent poets bear to poetry. 

Alvan F Sanborn. 


VICTORY. 

P EACE, for the silver bugles play, 

And the glad fifes, with shriller sound ; 

The drum beats fast, and, far away, 

Awakens joy profound. 

From dawn until the setting sun 
We battled, and our foes have lost; 

O heart, my heart, the day is won, — 

Break thou, and pay the cost ! 

Florence Earle Coates. 


828 


A CREED OF MANNERS. 


A CREED OF MANNERS. 

BY THE AUTHOR OF “DODO. ,, 

T HE long hours of English midsummer twilight were rapidly fading 
into night, and the dark was descending over the landscape layer 
on layer. In the garden-beds the scarlet geraniums already looked 
black, and the trees stood out in delicate tracery of leaf and branch 
against the velvet blue of a clear sky. The garden itself sloped gently 
up in a stretch of bird-haunted lawn from the river bank to a broad 
gravel walk in front of the house, and from the dining-room windows, 
which were thrown open to admit the cool night air, came shafts of 
oblong yellow light, through which soft clumsy moths passed and re- 
passed as across a magic-lantern sheet, losing themselves again in the 
fragrant dusk. 

Inside, two young men were sitting at the table, and one of them 
had just drawn a cigarette-case from his coat-pocket. 

“ I think we had better go outside and smoke,” he said, “ and tell 
them to bring the coffee out there. It’s deliciously warm. What do 
you say, Claude ?” 

The younger of the two got up and strolled to the window. 

“ Yes, let’s go out, and then you can go on trying to convince me 
that I have a soul, and I can begin convincing you that I have not. 
Not that any one ever convinced anybody. That is why s it is so de- 
lightful to argue. All argument is perfectly useless, and thus partakes 
of the nature of Art.” 

Jack Anstruther rose too. 

“ How very Oscaresque !” he said. 

“To-night you have adventitious advantage,” continued Claude. 
“Midsummer evenings by the Thames always seem to me to lend a 
superficial probability to the existence of souls. If we had stopped in 
London and gone to Lady Mildred’s dance, you would never have 
given a thought to your own soul, much less to mine.” 

“ My aunt resolves everything into digestion, I know,” said Jack. 
“She told me the other day that once when she*was a girl she fell 
violently in love. ‘But, my dear Jack,’ she went on, ‘it was all 
stomach.’ ” 

“ The converse holds too,” said Claude. “ I ate some lobster the 
other day, and it gave me, not indigestion, but acute remorse.” 

“ Remorse ? What for ?” 

“ I forget. It is immaterial. Remorse will hang itself on any 
peg.” 

“ But in your case it doesn’t get many pegs to hang on, does it?” 
The other laughed, and strolled towards the door. “ No ; I am let 
unfurnished and without fittings,” he said. “ Come on, Jack.” 

Claude Ackersley was one of those almost perfectly happy young 
men who have been blessed by Nature with an unlimited capacity for 


A CREED OF MANNERS. 


829 


enjoying themselves, and, as this gift was wedded in him to an in- 
satiable appetite for loafing, his time was very fully taken up. The 
loafer, like the poet, is born, not made, and out of a hundred men who 
loaf, very few are loafers. Most men who loaf do so only because 
they find it less tedious than any other occupation : the real loafer loafs 
because he loves it. In other respects, Claude was rich, good-looking, 
well-born, perfectly healthy, entirely unambitious, and twenty-five 
years old. Jack Anstruther had been questioning him at dinner as to 
what he meant to do, and why and when, and this led on to more 
metaphysical matters. Jack, who was some years the elder, was a 
rising barrister with a large practice, and the two had come down to a 
little house he owned on the Thames near Henley, to stay from Satur- 
day till Monday. Originally there was to have been a small party 
with him, but the thing had fallen through. Claude had been some- 
what at a loss to know what they would do with themselves alone, but 
Jack evidently wanted to come, and, as the other had never been pos- 
sessed of sufficient strength of mind to refuse anybody anything, he 
went too. 

They settled themselves in basket chairs on the terrace, and for a 
few moments neither of them spoke. A nightingale sang loud in the 
trees, and Our Lady of Summer Nights walked through her lands 
with hushed footsteps. 

“ I can’t think why you should be so anxious that I should ever do 
anything,” Claude began at last. “You see, I have no sordid motives 
which necessitate my choosing some profession. A merciful Provi- 
dence has spared me that.” 

“ There are other reasons for having a profession besides making 
money,” said Jack. 

Claude opened his eyes wide. 

“ My dear fellow,” he said, “ you are stating dogmatically as proved 
the very point we have been arguing. If there is any reason besides 
that of making money, it would be some sense of moral responsibility, 
the idea that one can and ought to do some good. I couldn’t possibly 
do any good. I am a harmless, unnecessary young man. I lay claim 
to that, but to nothing more.” 

“ Do you really mean you have no aims or hopes or fears, that you 
regard yourself as wholly irresponsible with reference to others ?” 

Claude sat still a moment without replying. 

“Irresponsible? Yes,” he said, at length. “But I have a hope 
and an aim, and a fear for that matter, though they are all one. My 
hope and aim are that under every circumstance, however trying, I 
may behave like a gentleman. My fear is that circumstances may be 
too strong, and that I shall fail, and behave like a coward or a cad. 
We differ altogether, you see. Your motto is 4 Morals makyth man 
mine, that ‘ Manners makyth man.’ I was at Winchester. Perhaps 
morals do make woman, — you may be right there ; and that, no doubt, 
is why all women are incomprehensible.” 

“Why do you say those things, Claude?” Jack asked. “Some- 
times I really do believe that you put manners and morals on the same 
plane ; and of course that is absurd when a case in point arises.” 


830 


A CREED OF MANNERS. 


“Of course I don’t put them on the same plane. I put manners 
on the only plane, and everything else nowhere. But what do you 
mean by ‘ when a case in point arises’ ?” 

“ When you are confronted with a right and a wrong : of course 
all else must give way to that.” 

Claude sat up in his chair, clasping his knees with his hands. 

“ I am telling you sober truth,” he said. “ Nothing seems to me 
worth taking any trouble about, except behaving nicely. You talk of 
right and wrong deciding your actions : I talk of good form and bad 
form directing mine. My whole being revolts against bad form, but I 
am sorry to say I don’t feel any such revulsion against doing things 
which 1 suppose are wrong. I am perfectly serious. Think how 
totally impossible life would be unless we took some trouble to behave 
decently. The whole duty of man is to be pleasant and social and 
charming. Nothing else matters. Hear me swear !” 

Claude turned round and looked at Jack. When a loafer is serious, 
he is very serious. 

“ It is so,” he said, nodding his head. 

“ You can’t really think that,” said Jack. “ You enjoy taking the 
lowest view of yourself.” 

“ Not in the least. I have no instinctive sense of right and wrong, 
but I have a very strong instinctive sense that if this world is to go 
on we must do our best to make it pleasant. A man’s first duty is to 
make himself as presentable as possible, and his next to make himself 
as adaptable and well-mannered as he can. A good host is a host with 
good manners who will behave nicely in a crowd ; and so it is with a 
good man. So, to return to our point, I still fail to see why I should 
have a profession.” 

“ Still, a profession need not be bad for your manners,” said Jack. 

“ That is true ; but it cannot possibly be good for them ; and if 
so, why should I have one?” 

“ And is that all your creed ?” he asked. 

“ No. There is a little more. I enjoy life, as I live it, enormously, 
quite enormously. It is my bird in the hand. Other people — you, for 
example — assure me there is a much better bird, or perhaps two, in the 
bush, which you call your aims in life. Personally I cannot see that 
bird in the bush, — you all confess it is a very thick bush, — nor can I 
hear it sing. All that comes out of the bush is a very desolate croak- 
ing sound, most lugubrious to hear. I really cannot believe that the 
bird is there. So it would clearly be absurd for me to sacrifice the 
bird I hold in my hand for one that I don’t believe is in the bush.” 

“ Then you really mean that your physical nature is your only 
criterion, that you care for nothing with your soul, or, if that word 
offends you, with anything that is not your body ?” 

“ I have no reason to suppose the contrary,” said Claude. “ Of 
course I don’t love all beautiful people and hate all ugly ones, because 
some ugly people have got an attractiveness about them which a very 
beautiful woman may lack ; but as a rule I love beauty and I am in- 
different to anything else. And the attractiveness of those other people 
is purely physical, too. Of course I am right. How can you love a 


A CREED OF MANNERS. 


831 


person’s soul? When one falls in love it is the physical contact which 
one desires. The touch of one woman’s hand is more to me than all 
the world.” 

u Oh, I admit that,” said Jack ; “ but don’t you know what Plato 
says about the bodily sensation being only a sort of copy from the 
archetype, the soul ?” 

Claude shook his head. 

“ My dear Jack, you make that fatal mistake of getting informa- 
tion second-hand. If you wanted to see what an elephant was like, 
you would look it out in the Encyclopaedia instead of going to the Zoo. 
The only thing that matters to me is what I think about love, not 
what Plato thinks about it. Isn’t it Plato who proves conclusively 
and in charming language that pain is not an evil ? I was quite con- 
vinced by it until I had to go to the dentist. And the dentist con- 
vinced me that pain is the only evil in existence. And as his demon- 
stration was practical, it was necessarily more final to me than Plato’s, 
which is only theoretical. 

Jack laughed. 

“ I wish you would be serious for two minutes.” 

“ I was never more serious in my life. As a matter of experience 
again, I don’t like people because they are good, or dislike them because 
they are bad, and to me that seems about a proof that if I have a soul 
at all it must be a very indifferent one, — not worth cultivating, in fact. 
Of course if I liked all good people and disliked all bad ones, it would 
be a very strong argument in favor of my having a soul ; but fail- 
ing the one I fail the other. No, my hope and my aim are sufficient 
for me.” 

Claude threw away the stump of his cigarette, got up out of his 
chair, and stretched himself slowly and luxuriously. 

“ Let’s go down to the river,” he said. “ I never saw such a 
delicious night. You really were quite right; it is much better being 
here than in a stuffy ball-room. I wish my mother was in England : 
she loves an English June. However, she comes next week; she 
leaves Brindisi to-night.” 

Claude thrust his hand through Jack’s arm, and they walked down 
over the close-shaven lawn to the water’s edge. A great tawny moon 
had just risen over the fields, which were fragrant and tall with dusky 
hay, and cast an uncertain trembling track across the stream. The 
night was perfectly cloudless. A fish rose once and again in mid- 
stream, and a little breeze wandered shiftily down the river. 

“ What was that charming little poem you showed me the other 
day ?” he continued : “ ‘ This kind warm world is all I know.’ That 
is so good, I felt I could have written it myself, — which, after all, is 
the highest compliment one can pay to the productions of any one else. 
And people like me, who know only this kind warm world, enjoy it, 
I believe, most of all. It must be so distracting to believe in anything 
else.” 

They stood for several minutes by the river bank, and then Claude 
shivered slightly. 

“ This kind warm world is just a trifle chilly down here,” he 


832 


A CREED OF MANNERS. 


said. “ Let’s go in again ; it is getting late, and I want whiskey 
and soda.” 

They went in-doors, and a man brought them glasses and bottles. 
Claude managed to break the neck of his soda, and spilt about half of 
it on to the floor. However, he poured the rest into the glass and 
drank it off at a gulp. 

As he drained the glass he suddenly started. 

“ How very odd !” he said. “ Jack, did you put any ice into my 
whiskey ?” 

Jack looked up. 

“Ice? No.” 

Claude held the tumbler up to the light. There were two or three 
small fragments of glass at the bottom of it. 

“I’ve done an extraordinarily stupid thing,” he said. “I’ve 
swallowed a chunk of glass. Is it very indigestible?” 

Jack jumped out of his chair. 

“ Swallowed a piece of glass ?” he asked. “ Claude, are you 
sure ?” 

“ Well, it was something hard, and it wasn’t ice, and there is some 
more of it in the tumbler. But don’t look like the Tragic Muse. 
What shall I do ? Glass cannot be very wholesome.” 

Jack looked at his watch. 

“We can catch the last train back,” he said. “ You must come up 
to London to-night.” 

“ And see a doctor ?” 

“ Yes, of course. I knew a man Oh, my God !” 

Claude got up too. 

“Is it as bad as that?” he asked. “Yes, I suppose it might play 
the deuce with one’s inside. But you needn’t come. It would be 
absurd for you to come too.” 

“ Nonsense ! I couldn’t possibly stop here.” 

Claude turned to the window and looked out. The basket chairs 
where they had been sitting a quarter of an hour before had been 
moved in, and the moon had risen a little higher. Otherwise every- 
thing was pitilessly unchanged. For a moment he felt angry and 
horribly helpless. Why should a splinter from a soda-water bottle, a 
wretched accident of this kind, be allowed to enter into the issues of 
life and death ? 

Jack touched him on the shoulder. 

“ Come, Claude, we mustn’t miss the train.” 

“No; I’m ready. But isn’t it odd we should have been talking 
about these things just before this happened? Tell me what you were 
going to say just now, — that man you knew ” 

“ I can’t talk of it. Come.” 

Two days later Claude lay dying. They had gone at once to a 
great London doctor, who had told him there was nothing to be done. 
If he died, he died quickly but terribly ; if he lived, he lived. And 
he lay dying. They had given him as much morphia as they dared, 
but there were intervals in which he was conscious. He could not 


A CREED OF MANNERS. 


833 


bear the weight of the bedclothes or of the useless poultices, and on 
the third morning he lay just covered with a sheet. Under the in- 
fluence of the drugs he had gone otf into a disturbed sleep about four 
that morning, and when Jack came back at eight he was still sleeping. 
But soon after he began to fidget and grow restless, and when the 
doctor came he was awake. 

The pain was almost insupportable, and his face was growing very 
white and worn. When the doctor saw him, he looked up at Jack, 
who was standing on the other side of the bed, and shook his head. 

Jack understood at once, and without hesitation knelt down at 
Claude’s side. 

“ Claude, old boy,” he said, “ it is nearly over. You will not be 
in pain much longer. Is there anything you want done ?” 

Claude smiled. Even in the midst of his rending pain he was his 
old courteous self. 

“ Thanks, Jack ; there is one thing. Ah !” 

His face contracted with a fresh spasm of pain. 

“ One thing,” he continued. “ My mother will be less wretched if 
she hears there has been a — a clergyman with me. Send for Lawson, 
will you ? He’s a good fellow. Can’t they send me to sleep again ?” 

Jack looked at the doctor. Yes, the end was near and inevitable. 
Why let him suffer more than necessary? He gave him another dose 
of morphia, and, saying he would be back in half an hour, left the two 
together. 

The morphia soon began to take effect, and Claude dozed off 1 again. 
The nurse moved noiselessly about the room, arranging things for the 
day, and once she stopped near the bed and looked at Claude as he 
lay there. 

“ He is dying very hard,” she whispered to Jack, “ but he never 
said a harsh or impatient word to me; and he always thanked me 
whenever I did anything for him. I never saw a man so patient and 
gentle. Poor boy ! poor boy !” 

The sun cast a square of hot golden light on to the floor where 
Claude’s dachshund Flo was enjoying her morning doze. Finding it 
unpleasantly warm, she waddled pathetically off* into the shade again. 
Jack found himself noticing that she had chosen the wrong side, and 
that she would certainly have to move again before an hour was up. 
Flo hated the sun as much as any woman who was inclined to freckle. 

Lawson soon came, and he and Jack waited together. At the end 
of half an hour the doctor returned. Claude was already getting 
fidgety in his sleep, and before long he opened his eyes. 

“ I think — this is the end, is it not?” he asked. 

Again a spasm of pain seized him. 

“ Ah, my God ” he began. 

He turned in bed slightly and saw Lawson. 

“ A thousand pardons,” he said. “ Dr. Smartly — I don’t think — 
do you know Mr. Lawson ?” 

And before the hot yellow square of light had travelled across the 
floor to where Flo lay, his hope and his aim were realized. 

E. F. Benson. 


Vol. JAY.— 53 


834 


DON JAIME , OF MISSION SAN JOS A 


DON JAIME , OF MISSION SAN JOSD. 

A MONG the first Spanish settlers in that beautiful valley of Alta 
California that lies east of the Bay of San Francisco was the 
family of Don Jaime de Vallejo. It was early in the century, when 
the slow carreta that carried their household goods from sunny Monte- 
rey by the sea wound through the Gavilan passes into the Salinas, 
thence north past the Mission of “San Juan of the North,” where the 
travellers rested, and saw the good padre Justus plant his olive-trees 
and teach the Indian neophytes to weave coarse woollen cloth. From 
San Juan the explorers crossed to the Gilroy rancho, where a few 
Spanish people were living, and thence northward to the hospitable 
settlement of Santa Clara, near the southern point of the bay. After 
resting here for a time among old friends at the pueblo, they turned to 
the eastern shore, and the base of the great Mission Peak that rises high 
over that portion of the Coast Range between Monte Diablo and Mount 
Hamilton. This was the “Valle de la San Jos6,” so named by the 
first Spanish expeditions, and here, in the newly established village of 
the Mission, they made their home. 

The branch of the Vallejos to which Don Jaime belonged was 
famous in the history of the young colony that Spain had planted. His 
father, still living in a hale and hearty manhood, had been one of the 
soldiers who accompanied Padre Junipero Serra on his first voyage into 
Alta California. He was then a reckless, impetuous, and popular young 
man, and many stories are told in the pioneer families that show his 
courage and attractiveness. Once in Los Angeles he rode with other 
cavaliers to a bull-fight, the first one ever held in that ancient and 
honorable pueblo. The corral was ill suited for such an occasion, 
and the rude seats about and above it were so insecure that during 
the fight a little girl fell from her place into the trampled arena. 

The bull rushed towards the child, but Don Ignacio, leaping down, 
seized him by the horns, and exerted to the utmost that giant strength 
for which he was justly famous even among the men of mighty thews 
who were his comrades. For a brief space he held the animal, until 
men with lassos caught the bull and dragged him away. 

The mother of the child was named Barbara, and the story goes 
that when the young man handed back her child he recited, with a 
smile, an impromptu stanza of verse that has been handed down in the 
memory of his descendants. It runs after this wise : 

Barbaramente castigas 
A quien constants adora; 

No seas barbara, senora, 

Aunque Barbara te digas. 

A literal translation would be stiff and commonplace; a metrical 
one that should manage to retain the play upon the lady’s name is 
beyond my verse-making abilities. What the gallant young provincial 


DON JAJME , OF MISSION SAN JOSE. 


835 


said was that she punished her constant admirers almost with barbarity. 
“Oh, be not always so cruel a lady,” he exclaimed, “even though 
thy name is Barbara !” The overwrought conceit pleased the period. 
Somehow the scene carries one back to feudal times and famous char- 
acters. Here are the admiration of beauty, the sentiment of captivity, 
the lawlessness, the genial insolence, that belong to mediaeval “ courts 
of love.” A modern hero inclined to dangerous rhymes and to a play 
upon the lady’s name would have said something like this : “ From a 
barbarous death receive back thy child, thou beautiful Barbara.” A 
practised verse-maker sees whole sonnets, full of nicely-balanced turns, 
in the situation. But young Don Ignacio’s primitive rhyme was much 
better than a whole school of poetry, and it established his reputation 
as the first poet of the province of Alta California. 

Don Jaime had much of his father’s physical strength and courage. 
He was a youth of twenty when Bouchard, the pirate, frightened the 
weak Spanish settlements, captured Monterey, and drove the simple, 
peaceful townsfolk into the inland valleys. The Vallejo family tradi- 
tions are full of narratives of his valor at this juncture. His descend- 
ants love to tell how he was a very Ajax, raging up and down the 
sea-beach ; how he dragged a cannon down to a point of land, loaded 
it, and fired repeatedly, though deserted by all his companions ; how he 
remained the sole representative of the Californians, refusing to obey 
orders to retire sent him by the governor of the province ; and, lastly, 
how the governor himself, greatly admiring the courage of the hero, 
and anxious to save him for future wars, sent his own servant on horse- 
back with a file and a hammer. The servant galloped up to the lone 
cannoneer on the beach, just as the pirates were landing, and hastily 
spiked the gun. Don Jaime hurled the hammer at his foes, and slowly 
retired after the much admired manner of his classic models. He 
reached a place of safety, where the governor embraced him with fervor, 
and at once raised him from the rank of lieutenant to that of captain. 

In 1825 the flag of the King of Spain was pulled down, and that 
of Mexico took its place throughout California. The young and 
thoughtless welcomed the tricolor without a shade of regret for the 
old regime ; the elders of the colony felt still more separated from the 
mother-land. Even while they admitted the policy of the Revolution, 
they mourned over the buried past. 

The new authorities soon recognized Don Jaime’s executive abilities, 
and made him administrador of the Mission San Jos6, then in process 
of secularization after the plans of the government, which looked with 
disfavor upon the absolute power of the priests over land, herds, and 
Indians. They hoped, though vainly, that the Indians could be made 
capable of caring for themselves and might ultimately become citizens 
of the commonwealth. 

Don Jaime had accumulated great riches in Monterey County and 
in Santa Clara, — wealth measured, as all property was in those days, 
by leagues of land and thousands of cattle and horses. His herdsmen 
could ride from sunrise to sunset in a straight line and not cross the 
boundaries of the rancho. Some of his cattle were kept on the seaward 
slopes of the Coast Range that slant to the Pacific ; some were in the 


836 


DON JAIME , OF MISSION SAN JOSE. 


valleys of the bay region ; some, far inland, climbed the brush-covered 
hills that overlooked the San Joaquin. 

The first thing that the old Don did in Alameda was to order the 
Indians to dig a ditch from far up in the gorge, to carry water for a 
grist-mill that he afterwards had them build at the mouth of the canon. 
The millstones were brought from Spain ; the other machinery was 
ordered by way of Acapulco from Mexico, and was carried on mule- 
back over the narrow mountain trails. 

After the flour-mill, the first in all that region, was well established, 
Don Jaime began a weaving-factory at the Mission San Jos6, where 
coarse fabrics for blankets, zarapes, and other articles were manufac- 
tured by the Indian neophytes under his supervision, and sold to the 
residents of the pueblos of San Francisco and Santa Clara. It was 
not long before the fame of them went abroad, and the priests of Car- 
melo and San Juan wrote by special messenger to ask at what rate they 
might exchange the striped weavings of those missions for the Don’s 
gay-patterned blankets. 

Even under the administradores , much of the patriarchal life of the 
priestly regime was maintained. The Indians, though nominally free, 
had a vast reverence for the overlordship of the dignified Don. As 
the tradition goes, he treated them kindly, provided them with abun- 
dant food, and allowed them to stop work at four o’clock in the after- 
noon and “ dance all the evening in the village square.” Besides, there 
were feast-days and celebrations, bull-fights, the hanging of the last 
sheaf of wheat at the church door, the gathering of the vintage, and a 
multitude of other epoch-marking events. 

The vaqueros of the Mission, always a popular class, were dressed 
by the new administrador in a sort of uniform made of soft sheepskins, 
tanned and left in the natural color, then bound with scarlet, with bril- 
liant scarlet stand-up collars and cuffs. A wide scarlet sash about the 
waist completed the outfit. The herdsmen from the mountain pastures 
assembled on feast-days in the sleepy old town that lies under the Mis- 
sion Peak. Fine, swarthy fellows they were, and better horsemen 
never rode on raid or dwelt in any wilderness of the continent. Even 
the cowboys of the Southwest are not more completely at home in the 
saddle than were these native Californians. 

In the midst of large projects for the development of the valley, 
the planting of vineyards, and the irrigation of great tracts of land, 
Don Jaime heard the news of the discovery of gold. It seemed to him 
a sad thing for the Spanish-Americans, who were only just beginning 
to adapt themselves to the new order of affairs after the conquest of 
California. Almost immediately hundreds of strangers appeared, 
moving in converging lines to the hill-passes, bound for the mines be- 
yond. The Mission was suddenly filled with a new and reckless life, — 
Missourian emigrants, Sonorans, Chileans, Spanish adventurers from 
Los Angeles, Mormons, runaway sailors, and many a hungry-eyed 
speculator. Some had large canvas-covered wagons ; others came with 
mules or donkeys loaded down with camp-utensils; still others were 
blanket-men, starting on foot for the mines. It is said that some of 
them afterwards came back and bought ranches on the very streams by 


DON JAIME , OF MISSION SAN JOSE. 837 

which they had camped, poor, restless gold-seekers in the splendid days 
of '49, when all the world was hastening to the Sierras. 

Don Jaime himself decided to follow the current of adventure, and 
he did so in a peculiarly Californian manner. He asked for volunteers 
among his Indian peons, and easily equipped an expedition of one hun- 
dred men. A team of pack-horses was loaded with flour, dried beef, 
pinole , and other articles. In order to supply milk for the Don’s 
morning cup of coffee, his favorite cow “ Nevada” was placed in a 
carreta, or wooden-wheeled wagon, drawn by horses. The party crossed 
the San Joaquin and proceeded leisurely to the El Dorado County 
placers. There Don Jaime pitched his tent and set his Indians at 
work. Every night the faithful, simple souls filed into his presence 
with the proceeds of their day’s toil, pouring it out on his table. The 
old Spaniard thanked them, and they withdrew to their own camp. 
For three months the yield of gold averaged a thousand dollars a day; 
then the diggings gave out, and the party returned to the Mission San 
JosA On the eve of departure, as the family tradition runs, the Indians 
went to the Don and poured out an additional treasure. 

“ Muchachos,” he said, “ what is this?” 

“ Senor, we wish to give you all that we dug on Sunday, — the day 
you gave us free.” 

“ That is your own ; keep it, my good men.” 

“ The patron can use it best,” was the answer. 

So Don Jaime had it weighed, and when he reached the Mission 
he obtained a quantity of silver, the money that the Indians liked best, 
and paid them back, some twenty dollars, some fifty, some almost a 
hundred, in exact accordance with the amount of surplus gold they had 
given him. Then he began to spend his own with lavish hands, and 
in a few years the fortune that his faithful Indians had heaped up was 
but the shadow of its former self. 

The region is full of legends of the liberality of Don Jaime in his 
days of good fortune. His secretary, a poor Connecticut Yankee, 
pleased him one day by some apt remark. The Don ordered him to 
draw up a title-deed, and forthwith presented him with a quarter-sec- 
tion of the best land in the valley. He found a poor family camping 
on the highway, and gave them a farm the next morning. He heard 
that “ the heretics” in the squatter village on his lands were struggling 
to build a church ; down came a hundred servitors of the stout old 
Catholic and gave a week’s work to the rearing of a Methodist chapel.! 

If the old Spaniard had one ruling passion, it was his love of a 
square and honest horse-race. He had been present when all the 
money of Santa Barbara was staked against the money of Los Angeles, 
and knew the history of every noted race of the province. Don Jaime 
was a particularly famous authority on “ chuck-a-luck” races, where 
every one enters and rides his own horse and the contest is a single 
running “ spurt” of a mile or so. He had horses himself, and he 
backed his opinions royally. 

The Don was never above the dubious guidance of omens. “ Daugh- 
ter,” he used to say in courtly Spanish to his eldest girl, “ what didst 
tho'u dream of last night?” One morning, hearing that the dream had 


838 


DON JAIME , OF MISSION SAN JOSE. 


been of a new red dress, he went elate to the Santa Clara races, wagered 
all his available funds on a “dark red horse/ ” and came home tri- 
umphant to pour whole pounds of Mexican dollars into his daugh- 
ter’s lap. 

“ Alas,” said the girl years afterwards, “ if only I could more often 
have dreamed rightly !” 

Times changed in a few years, and the days of waste were gone 
forever. The beautiful valley, so long unfenced, used only by flocks 
and herds, had caught the attention of restless, energetic American 
home-hunters. They came fast and faster, bringing ploughs and shot- 
guns, axes and seed-wheat ; the smoke of scores of settlers’ cabins rose 
from as many claims on the Mission grant. Endless litigation fol- 
lowed, and Don Jaime spent the rest of his life in the law courts. Acre 
after acre, league after league, the vast estate melted into nothingness 
and was swept out of sight in whirling eddies. The invaders rapidly 
destroyed every vestige of the ancient regime. Don Jaime and his 
careless scarlet- banded vaqueros became but shadowy myths in less than 
a score of years. 

The old adobe where the Spanish administrador once lived like 
some feudal baron in the midst of his retainers is now crumbling into 
ruin. It stands roofless, deserted ; the olives that were planted about 
it nearly a century ago are mostly gone ; the walls of the garden are 
torn down ; the tall hedges of prickly-pear have been destroyed. Even 
the graceful sycamores that gave the river-crossing its name of “Alisal” 
were cut for firewood by some early settler who had no sense of their 
beauty. 

“ Even the children in the village cried when the sycamores were 
cut,” said the daughter of Don Jaime, as she told the story. “ Even 
the Indians came and asked the man to leave them alone. Then, when 
he refused to stop, they went to the padre ; but the good father told 
them, as he had many times before, that the old days were gone, and 
that the new-comers were masters of the land. It was but one of many 
things that went wrong that summer. 

“ It seemed as if most of the troubles of the Spanish people and 
Indians culminated in one year,” she added; “the mines were giving 
out, and thousands of rough and wicked men were returning to the 
region of the lowlands. They killed cattle every night, and sold the 
beef in San Francisco; they took fruit out of the orchards, vegetables 
from the gardens, and grapes from the vineyards. Pretty soon they 
had all the land ; we had none.” 

That was forty years ago, and now the valley that Don Jaime once 
owned is a land of orchards ; for miles the little fruit-farms extend, 
with their prunes, apricots, peaches, cherries, almonds, walnuts, and 
olives ; it begins to look like a fragment of Italy. Now and then an 
orchardist turns up an Indian bead or shell, or a piece of red Mission 
tile. There is hardly a memorial of the Spanish period left to mark 
their fifty or sixty years’ ownership of the fertile valley. 

Charles Howard Shinn. 


A LIVE GHOST. 


839 


A LIVE GHOST. 


“[T1HERE he is!’’ — “ There she is!” — “ There they are!” These 
-L outcries were not fragments of a conjugation, but the exclama- 
tions of a joyous crowd which leaned over the sides of the Campania, 
as she steamed slowly to her dock, and the mass of humanity waiting 
upon the pier became gradually individualized. 

Tom Stuart listened with a pang of loneliness none the less keen 
because it was unreasonable. He had informed nobody of his return. 
Yet his heart was heavy with the knowledge that not one of those 
eager welcomes would be for him, though he had wandered so much 
farther than any of these other travellers. 

Two years before, he had rushed away in the hot desperation of a 
lovers’ quarrel. But in “ darkest Africa” death’s every-day neighbor- 
hood had taught him many lessons ; and part of that stern teaching 
had been the translating of what seemed the dignified self-assertion of 
his abrupt departure into a cruel injustice toward the girl who loved 
him. For of course Mabel loved him ; else why should she have 
promised her beauty and her fortune to him, penniless Tom Stuart, 
who possessed only a paint-brush for future reliance? It was her 
money, or rather his lack of money, which had made him so easily 
offended when Van Eyck continued to haunt her steps after the an- 
nouncement of their engagement. He had been jealous, she had been 
resentful ; they had quarrelled, and within three days he had joined 
an expedition fitted out by a couple of wealthy young fellows of his 
acquaintance, who were inspired by the craze for African exploration 
prevalent among the youthful millionaire “ unemployed.” 

Good God ! how long were those two years ! Through what a life- 
time of monotonous marches and dreary watches he had dreamed of 
the letters from her which he was convinced he should find when his 
party got back to Zanzibar, where civilization and the mail service 
ended. Was it not one of her half-tender, half-mocking assertions, in 
the first glad days of their engagement, that a woman must naturally 
prefer to ask forgiveness of the man she loved, rather than to bestow 
her forgiveness upon him? 

But, though dozens of letters awaited his friends, there had been 
nothing for him, — nothing ! 

He was entirely bereft of family ties, and of no social or financial 
importance. Only to Mabel had he desired to cable news of his safety ; 
and her anxiety was obviously not incapable of further endurance. 

In the midst of the joyful messages sent home by his comrades, 
Tom Stuart had maintained the silence of his disappointment. Nor 
had he wished to break it through all the many weeks which are re- 
quired even nowadays to bring a traveller from Zanzibar to New York, 
until this foolish longing for a welcome overtook him as he arrived, 
unexpected and unrecognized, among the happy meetings upon the 
Cunard pier. Yet not quite unrecognized. 


840 


A LIVE GHOST. 


While he was accounting to a customs inspector for his portfolio 
of African sketches, he became aware of an oddly amazed stare fixed 
upon him, and recollected the perpetrator thereof to be a former ac- 
quaintance. 

“ Halloo, Jackson !” he exclaimed, genially. 

His extended hand was accepted hesitatingly. 

“ Tom Stuart?” Jackson stammered, with an uncertain smile. 
“ Beg your pardon. I — I thought you were dead.” 

“ Never more alive,” Tom declared, struggling against an absurd 
dismay at the quality of this first greeting. 

“You look splendidly,” Jackson continued, with dawning cor- 
diality. “ I heard that the expedition had returned safely to Zanzibar 
a month ago. But there was a rumor of your death soon after your 
departure.” 

“ I am happy to be able to contradict the rumor,” Tom said, cyni- 
cally ; “though I dare say most people will have forgotten both me 
and my demise, if the rumor is two years old. You should be proud 
of your very retentive memory, Jackson.” 

With this utterance of a natural if unjustifiable resentment he 
stalked away to a cab, and was driven up-town. 

New York was as dirty, dusty, and deserted as it usually is early 
in August, and Tom’s remembrance of African heat became more 
kindly before he arrived, perspiring and perplexed, at his club. He 
had never been a prominent member of that agreeable institution, 
but he had frequented it for many years, and, should everybody he 
knew be out of the city, he relied forlornly upon recognition from the 
servants. 

The hall porter, however, proved to be a new-comer, who replied 
to Tom’s inquiry for a room with the formula, “ Only club members 
received, sir.” 

“ You will find my name on the books, — Thomas Stuart.” 

The porter drew a careful finger up the column belonging to the 
letter S. Then he confronted Tom dumbly, divided between amaze- 
ment and indignation. 

“Well?” Tom demanded, a chill of suspicion stealing down his 
spine, — not a pleasant chill, even in August. 

“ The Thomas Stuart on this list is dead.” 

“ Don’t you see that I am alive?” cried Tom. 

“ Yes,” the other admitted, sharply ; “ but I don’t see that you are 
Thomas Stuart. Here is the star opposite the gent’s name.” 

“ Call one of the old servants. I’ve been away two years,” Tom 
said, resolutely controlling his temper, as he saw the grinning cabman 
standing guard over the portmanteau he had just brought in. 

“ Guess you know that the whole lot of old servants were cleared 
out six months ago,” the porter rejoined, with a derisive wink at the 
cabman. 

“ I will have you discharged for insolence to a member of the club,” 
Tom began, impressively. 

“ I ain’t afraid,” the other interrupted, triumphantly. “ If you are 
a member you must be a ghost ; and I don’t believe in ghosts.” 


A LIVE GHOST. 


841 


Stammering with wrath, yet equally determined against a row or a 
retreat, Tom ejaculated the names of several acquaintances likely to be 
available for his identification. 

“ Out of town,” his adversary repeated, with a leer, which grew 
more objectionable at each repetition, until Tom remembered David 
Wynne, an elderly bachelor who professed a conviction that London 
and New York share the comforts of life between them, and that a 
man of reasonable experience is to be found either in one city or the 
other at any season. 

“ He is in town,” the porter conceded. “ Dines here every evening, 
eight sharp.” 

“ I shall return at eight ; and I shall report you,” Tom de- 
clared, turning away with but small consolation in anticipating the 
vindication of his course which would crown his reappearance ; for 
he was impotently aware of another exchange of winks across his 
shoulder. 

“ The Brunswick,” he ordered, haughtily, and hid his discomfiture 
in the cab. 

At that hotel he was assigned a room without accusation of being 
a fraud or a phantom, and there he proceeded to consider the singular 
position in which he found himself. 

The lawyer with whom he had left his will, previous to his de- 
parture for Africa, could probably give him all details concerning the 
origin of the rumor of his death. Was his small patrimony already 
divided among the distant heirs? Tom started from his chair to seek 
the lawyer’s office at once ; but he sank back again with a half-smile : 
the old gentleman’s holidays occurred in August, and Tom shrank from 
confronting a clerk possibly as sceptical as the club porter. He must 
wait for Wynne, who was a certainty at eight o’clock, and who, always 
well posted in everybody’s affairs, could inform him not merely about 
the rumor of his death, but about some imaginable results of that 
rumor which troubled this perplexed young man more than the tempo- 
rary doubt of his identity or the brief disarrangement of his finances. 

Before that star was printed beside his name in the club list his 
death must have been widely credited. This explained Mabel’s silence : 
she believed him dead two years since; a long, long time for faithful 
mourning of the dead, — the dead who had been neither just nor tender 
in his farewells. Good God ! how should he bear to hear that Van 
Eyck had won her? 

Very ghost-like he felt as he wandered restlessly from the hotel to 
the streets. Poor ghosts, — real ghosts ! he hoped that heaven, or even 
the other place, shut them securely from any news of the world which 
they had left, and which did not miss them ! 

Eight o’clock found him again at the club, where his enemy the 
hall porter took his card in eloquent silence and presently announced 
that Mr. Wynne would see him. 

There was a keen look of question upon David Wynne’s clever 
countenance as he awaited his visitor. 

“This is a most extraordinary coincidence, or a most ” he 


842 


A LIVE GHOST. 


began, but broke off abruptly as Tom advanced under the electric 
lights ; then, with dilating eyes, he exclaimed, “ Great heavens ! Tom 
Stuart ? — you are alive ?” 

“ According to my own sensations I am,” Tom said, smiling un- 
mirthfully ; “ though so many sane people seem sure of my death that 
I begin to doubt.” 

“ My dear fellow,” Wynne interrupted, grasping Tom's hand in 
both of his, and speaking with delightful exaggeration, “ I have never 
been so glad to see any one.” He broke off again, to stare at the 
other's handsome sunbrowned face. “ This is inexplicable,” he mut- 
tered. 

“ If you mean the rumor of my death, I intend to have that ex- 
plained very thoroughly,” Tom declared, grimly. “ And I come to 
you to start my investigations.” 

“ It was much more positive than a rumor : it was a cablegram,” 
Wynne said, ruminatingly. 

Then he drew forward a big chair for his guest, dropped into 
another, and took a letter-case from his pocket. 

“ I sent to my rooms for this when the porter told me that some 
impostor was claiming your name,” he began, briskly. “ This is my 
receptacle for newspaper cuttings which interest me particularly and 
are not too long. Here is your obituary ” 

“ Which was not too long,” Tom interpolated, bitterly. 

“ Better be a living dog than a dead lion,” Wynne cried, genially. 
“ I assure you, my boy, that you were very much talked about for a 
week at least. One must be a Bismarck or a Gladstone to expect more 
of one's world. Hear what the Herald says : 

“ ‘ With deep regret we announce the death, near Zanzibar, Africa, 
of the talented young artist Thomas Stuart. He had joined the ex- 
pedition fitted out by Messrs. Blount and Brooke for the purpose of 
making sketches among majestic and unfamiliar scenery. His death 
occurred after a few hours' illness, during the second day's march from 
the coast, and the sad intelligence was cabled to his lawyers in this city 
by a servant of Mr. Blount's, who had been sent back to Zanzibar 
for that object. Thus again does the Dark Continent deprive us of 
genius.' 

“ Gratifying to you hereafter to know how a Herald reporter 
classifies you,” Wynne said, giving the cutting to Tom with a smile. 
“ Just now it is more important that we should analyze such facts as 
you may remember concerning the servant who sent that cablegram. 
Did Blount discharge him? Or did he have 'any grudge against 
you ?” 

“ Not the slightest. Nor was he discharged ; he simply got funked 
and left us after our first bivouac.” 

“From whom did Blount get him?” 

“From Fritz Van Eyck, who had employed him on his yacht, and 
who recommended him strongly.” 

“Van Eyck? — If somebody influenced this servant to send the 
cablegram, that somebody must have had an object to gain by the re- 
port of your death. Van Eyck couldn’t, of course ?" 


A LIVE GHOST. 


843 


Wynne paused, as Tom uttered an exclamation : 

“ The scoundrel !” 

“ Go slowly, my boy,” the elder man said, gravely. 

Tom, who had grown very white, pressed both hands over his 
eyes, while, with a flash of divination whose vividness dizzied him, he 
understood the whole plot. Two years in which to win Mabel from 
the memory of the lover she believed dead! Such had been Van 
Eyck’s object in devising and accomplishing, through his old servant, 
this curious fraud. Doubtless the well-paid servant had vanished. 
The master’s complicity would be difficult to prove. Yet, more and 
worse, Van Eyck was attractive, devoted : Mabel was probably already 
his wife, — pure, proud Mabel, whose misery, should she discover that 
her husband had been guilty of so base a treachery, would not be 
lessened by the knowledge that he was tempted by love of her. 

“ What has Van Eyck been doing these two years?” Tom asked, 
presently. 

“ Loafing, as usual, and making love to Miss Nesbit.” 

“ Has that occupation been successful ?” 

“ Slow but sure, those say who profess to know. There are bets — 
bad form, those bets ! — that Miss Nesbit will Mrs. Van Eyck before 
Christmas. Keep cool, my boy,” Wynne added, with an odd change 
of tone, and a glance across Tom’s shoulder toward a man who was 
approaching them. 

Tom rose. The new-comer stood stone-still. For a moment they 
stared at each other, with a gaze of such entire mutual comprehension 
that words were needed merely for its disguise. 

“ Alive, after all the weeping and wailing for you is ended ? Very 
indiscreet, Mr. Stuart,” Van Eyck exclaimed. 

“ You evidently did not share the general belief in my death.” 

“ I rarely share a general belief, even in matters which concern me 
more deeply than the rumored death of an acquaintance.” 

“ This rumor took the form of a cablegram sent by a servant whom 
you recommended to us.” 

“ I stood sponsor for the fellow’s cooking, not for his veracity, or 
his sanity.” 

The short sentences, sternly swift as the first passes in a duel & la 
mort, ceased sharply. During another long moment neither man 
moved, — a moment in which Tom fought a nobler battle for Mabel’s 
future happiness than ever knight of old waged for his lady’s name ; 
and the adversary he conquered was his own fierce desire to strike his 
clinched hand against Van Eyck’s sneering smile. 

“ Good-night, Wynne,” he said, rather breathlessly. “ Being a 
ghost, I am inspired by the well-known ghostly liking for solitary 
prowling.” 

Without further word to Van Eyck, he walked down the room, 
followed by Wynne. 

“ Right you are,” that gentleman murmured, rejoicingly conscious 
of having escaped complicity in a row. “ I doubt whether you could 
prove anything; and accusation, unless proved, seems mere black- 
guardism. Clever rascal he is, — eh? Neat, that hint about the 


844 


A LIVE GHOST. 


cook’s sanity. Breakfast with me to-morrow at ten, my boy. I’ll 
hunt up two or three old chums, and we’ll drink to your new lease 
of life.” 

Van Eyck was turning over an evening paper when Wynne passed 
him again. 

“Has Stuart been interviewing his disappointed heirs?” he asked, 
languidly ; “ or did he lose his manners in Africa ?” 

“ He has had a curious experience.” 

“ I should like to hear how he enraged my very peaceable cook.” 

“ He says the cook had no cause for grudge against him.” 

Van Eyck shrugged his shoulders. 

“ That is a statement which few will believe, even though a man 
return from the dead to tell it,” he quoted, cynically. Then he rose. 
“ Ta-ta, Wynne,” he said, without ottering his hand, — perhaps because 
Wynne’s remained somewhat rigidly pendent. “ I sail in the Majestic 
to-morrow ; due in Scotland next week for the August shooting.” 

“ Scotland ? Capital idea. You couldn’t do better,” Wynne de- 
clared, and went to dinner chuckling softly. “Tom wins, by Jove, 
after throwing down his cards. And there must be one woman yet as 
constant as Penelope.” 

Tom Stuart, however, had not thrown down all his cards. Though 
he had resolved to leave unaccused the man who had by such ingenious 
treachery won Mabel from him, he owed it to her to write her of his 
return, and of his unchanged love, not mentioning Van Eyck’s name, 
perhaps. As Tom walked swiftly along a way that had used to be the 
way to Paradise, there drifted across the tumult of his thoughts some 
lines which thrilled him wondrously : 

There’s a time in the lives of most women and men 
When tangled threads would grow smooth and even 
If only the dead could know just when 
To come back and be forgiven.” 

Was this ghostly coming back the “just when”? Surely he 
would not lose the chance of it ! Mabel, of course, must be out of 
town ; but he could get her address from the care-taker left in charge 
of her house, and she should have his letter before seeing Van Eyck 
again. 

Very bleak and black the tall house looked as he rang, — darkly 
different from the brilliant welcome its lighted windows had been wont 
to offer him. 

“ Her address, is it ? She’s here herself, — come into the city for a 
couple of days,” the care-taker replied to his demand, then vanished 
in haste to finish one of the perennial meals of her class. 

The drawing-room, despoiled of curtains and portieres, yawned 
before him, a dim cave, with an atmosphere redolent of linen furniture 
covers instead of mouldy stone ; and into its depths he stumbled. 

Yes, she was there, rising tremulously from the shadows, white as 
the vision she believed him to be. 


A VOICE FROM THE NIGHT. 


845 


“Torn? Tom! — Is this dreaming? or dying?” she whispered, 
awed but not afraid ; not afraid, because love, thank God, is mightier 
than death or the fear of it. 

With this thanksgiving he took her in his arms, and forgave the 
rest of the world its treachery and its forgetfulness. 

Ellen Mackubin. 


A VOICE FROM THE NIGHT. 

0 HERON, from the lonely shore 
Unceasingly thy cry, 

Ill-boding, dismal, harsh, 

Arises through the mists of night 
That gather deep and cold and white 
Upon the silent marsh, 

Dim, drifting shrouds that folded lie 
Around my door. 

What shadow of the future’s needs 
Dismays thy simple heart, 

Poor dweller in the fog ? 

What evil spirit of unrest 
Disturbs the quiet of thy nest 

Beyond the tussocked bog ? 

Do demons even ply their art 

Among the reeds ? 

Perhaps thy bright-eyed mate is led 
Across the winding creek, 

Belated, tired of wing. 

Then grieve not ! Soon thy loving note 
As beacon’s blaze to storm-tossed boat 
The wanderer will bring. 

O heron, can the words I speak 

Recall the dead? 

O heron on the lonely shore, 

The east is gray above : 

Thy watch is well-nigh done, 

And gentle dawn will bring thee sleep, 

While I my endless vigil keep, 

Unwelcoming the sun ; 

For she, my light, my life, my love, 

Will come no more. 

H. Prescott Beach. 


846 


SOME NOTABLE WOMEN OF THE PAST. 


SOME NOTABLE WOMEN OF THE PAST. 

L OOKING at our letters of the beginning of this century, the names 
of a delightful set of women meet us and remind us how in those 
days the comparatively few women who wrote or struck out a line of 
their own towered above their fellows in a way which we at the latter 
end of the century can hardly understand. Apparently also there were 
others even then aspiring to be literary whose names have entirely dis- 
appeared. “ Literary ladies ! ” Mrs. Barbauld once exclaimed. “ Mercy 
on us ! Have you ever reckoned up how many there are, or computed 
how much trash would be poured in from such a general invitation ?” 
This was in answer to Miss Edgeworth’s idea of starting a magazine 
to be entirely conducted by ladies. What would Mrs. Barbauld say 
now ? 

And yet these women of the past — how many of them are more 
than mere names to the rising generation of to-day ? Possibly, how- 
ever, a glance at some of their letters may serve to make us know 
them a little better than we do. 

A lesson on fame will be pointed if we take brave-hearted Hannah 
More as the first on our list. “ Hannah More ! Why, she wrote 
tracts.” That will be the probable answer of an intelligent person if 
questioned as to this once famous lady ; and yet very brilliant was her 
youth, and the keen wit and ready humor of the Hannah More of 
twenty were quite equal to appreciating the brilliant literary society she 
met. David Garrick, “ an abridgment of all that is pleasant in man,” 
became her friend ; Dr. Johnson made much of her, and laughed 
at her, too, occasionally; she drank tea at Sir Joshua Reynolds’s; 
Horace Walpole said she was the choicest and best of human beings; 
and that she took a lively interest in politics is shown by the following 
lines which we have in her own strong and decided handwriting, the 
first two being Cowper’s and the other four her comment thereon : 

“ Undaunted England, wearied and perplexed ! 

Once Chatham saved thee, but who saves thee next ?” 

Who saves? Again that glorious Trophy’s won, 

And Chatham’s name is lost in Chatham’s son. 

To him the muse a loftier praise shall yield : 

A sword was Chatham — Pitt’s both sword and shield. 

Even the reviews, famed in those days for spite, were gracious to 
her, and her tragedies “ Percy” and “ The Fatal Falsehood” were acted 
and praised. It certainly was not disappointed ambition that made 
Hannah More after a time turn all her thoughts towards working 
for the good of her fellow-creatures instead of for her own glory, or 
towards writing the moral “ Coelebs in Search of a Wife,” “ Practical 
Piety,” and “ The Shepherd of Salisbury Plain,” or, at the instigation 
of Mr. Wilberforce, doing all she could among the poor of the Mendip 
Hills. From 1789 her energies and those of her sisters were devoted 
to good works, until one by one the sisters died, leaving Hannah alone 


SOME NOTABLE WOMEN OF THE PAST. 


847 


and desolate in her home at Barley Wood, which she herself had built. 
The letter of hers which we have is dated at this period, and was 
written to a gentleman who wished to become a clergyman. There is 
a true earnest ring in these words from the old lady of nearly eighty, 
and the handwriting is still clear and legible : 

Barley Wood, Feb. 22, 1823. 

Dear Sir, — 

Tho’ I have not the pleasure of being known to you, yet your near con- 
nexion with my beloved Mrs. Le Touche seems to authorize me to treat you 
with the familiarity of an old acquaintance and even of a friend. 

Our valuable friend Mr. Sendford was so good as to show me a late letter 
of yours to him. It was an interesting picture of your situation, of your prin- 
ciples and your plans. Whatever may be your present difficulties and your 
future trials, it rejoices me to see that you place an entire confidence on that 
Almighty arm which is able to support you under the one, and to deliver you 
from the other. The two interesting companions of your voyage, tho’ they will 
augment your cares, will sweeten them ; and it is no small consolation, by en- 
joying the company of those we best love, to be relieved from the unavoidable 
anxieties of separation and tedious absence. 

Tho’ you have not accomplished your wish of entering into holy orders, let 
not that discourage you, as if it would interfere with your moral and religious 
usefulness. I have even sometimes known that a truly pious layman has done 
more good to the souls of men than if he had been of the sacred profession ; 
because the vulgar cannot suspect him, as they are apt to suspect a clergyman, 
of having some interested end in view; besides, your military situation will 
give you a degree of authority. Much discretion no doubt will be necessary in 
the exercise of this duty ; but true Christian zeal under the direction of a sound 
prudence will commonly, thro’ the Divine blessing, without which nothing is 
strong, nothing is holy, produce substantial, tho’ perhaps very gradual effects. 
Sober perseverance will do much. 

As you have made some preparation for your more remote plan, by studying 
at the University, I see nothing improper in your design if it please God to 
preserve you in the same pious disposition, that you should at your return com- 
plete your studies at Cambridge preparatory to your coming into the Church; 
your reading and devout exercises in the mean time will usefully fill up your 
leisure, and prove your qualifications for the ministry. In whatever situation you 
may be placed, may you always be looking unto Jesus, the Author and finisher 
of your faith ! This is the best prayer that can be offered up by, dear sir, your 
sincere friend and humble servant, 

Hannah More. 

Time and fame have not dealt much better with Mrs. Barbauld, 
and yet she too was a clever woman, and had ideas beyond her time in 
education ; she wrote poetry, essays, and novels, and was withal gentle, 
retiring, and good. Her father, John Aikin, was a dissenting minister, 
and early trained her mind at Warrington, where he was classical 
tutor at the college, and where she met such men as Howard the phi- 
lanthropist, Roscoe the author, Pennant the naturalist, and many others. 
Also, alas for her, she there fell in love with, and married in 1774, a 
young divinity student, Richard Barbauld, who unfortunately was sub- 
ject to fits of insanity, and the boarding-school for young men which 
they kept for eleven years was really upheld by the energy of Mrs. 
Barbauld. When they retired and settled at Hampstead, Anna Letitia 
became the attraction of a literary centre. Joanna Baillie, the author 
of “ De Montfort,” was there, and Miss Edgeworth, with whom she 
constantly corresponded. Mrs. Barbauld’s memory will never die al- 
together, for Wordsworth was once heard to murmur that, though he 


848 


SOME NOTABLE WOMEN OF THE PAST 


was not in the habit of envying people, he wished he had written her 
lines about “ Life,” the last lines of which are famous : 

Life, we’ve been long together 
Through pleasant and through cloudy weather ; 

’Tis hard to part when friends are dear, — 

Perhaps ’twill cost a sigh, a tear ; 

Then steal away, give little warning, 

Choose thine own time ; 

Say not “ Good night,” but in some brighter clime 
Bid me “ Good morning.” 

It is curious to note how much Mrs. Barbauld’s opinion of Johnson 
differed from that of Hannah More. “ Johnson, I think, was far from 
being a great character,” she says ; “ he was constantly sinning against 
his conscience, and then afraid of going to hell for it ; a Christian and 
a man of the town, a philosopher and a bigot, a Jacobite and pen- 
sioned. In short, he rather seems to me to be one of thosd who have 
shone in the belles lettres than what he is held out to be by many, an 
original and deep genius in investigation.” 

Mrs. Barbauld’s note among our autographs hardly deserves such a 
long notice of her, yet, with its careful, well-formed letters, though 
showing signs of age, it is characteristic in its brevity : 

If Miss Julia Rivaz is charitably disposed this afternoon, Mrs. Barbauld 
will be very thankful for her company. She can offer her no other motive. 

Who will doubt that Miss Julia Rivaz was charitably disposed ? 

Then we turn over and find an affectionate letter — the writing uneven 
and shaky, but full of character — from old Mrs. Grant of Laggan, 
whose “ Letters from the Mountains” were once eagerly read, and 
whose “ Memoirs of an American Lady” might still be looked at with 
interest, since she as Miss McYicar spent her early years in the United 
States. 

It is to her “ dear Miss Margarete,” whom she says “ I cannot call 
by any other name, for auld Lang Syne continues more present with 
me than with most people,” and whom she begs to “ write instantly 
to one who truly goes to you yourself on a Pilgrimage of love.” 

Near this we have a note from the celebrated Maria Edgeworth 
to a Mr. Backhouse, which recalls to us that inconvenient time of 
postal arrangements and how the poor members of Parliament had to 
be bothered for the “ franks” which they alone had the privilege of 
giving. The writing is sloping, pointed, and neat, that of a careful 
and sensible woman. 

Miss Edgeworth’s Compts to Mr. Backhouse. She takes the liberty of en- 
closing a packet to him for 

L. P. Wilson, Esqre 
Kings Arms Yard 
Coleman Street 

Miss Edgeworth hopes that she does not encroach upon Mr. Backhouse’s 
kind permission by enclosing to him during the dissolution of parliament. He 
will have the goodness to give her notice if this should be the case. 

Edgeworths town 

July 26th 1830 


SOME NOTABLE WOMEN OF THE PAST. §49 

And now we come to Mrs. Opie. Short as her notes are, they are 
so characteristic of their warm-hearted author both in their clear writing 
with its hasty dashes and in the style so devoid of stiffness that we 
seem to have her before us and to be ready to fall in love with her 
when we read them. Amelia Alderson started in life with everything 
at her command, beauty, health, and talent. She was petted by society, 
was a friend of Mrs. Siddons, sang her own songs to the Prince Regent, 
and then fell in love with Opie the painter, who, though originally 
poor and unknown, had struggled into fame. That picture of love at 
first sight may be worth quoting here. It was at an evening party. 
“ At the time she came in, Opie was sitting on the sofa beside Mr. F., 
who had been saying from time to time, ‘ Amelia is coming, Amelia 
will surely come/ He was interrupted by his companion eagerly ex- 
claiming, ‘ Who is that? who is that?’ ” Hastily rising, he pressed 
forward to the fair object whose sudden appearance had so impressed 
him. He was evidently smitten, charmed at first sight. On her side 
she says, in a letter dated 1797, “ Mr. Opie has been my declared lover 
ever since I came. I was ingenuous with him upon principle; I told 
him my situation and the state of my heart. He said he should still per- 
sist and risk all consequences to his own peace, and so he did and does.” 

John Opie, the son of a Truro carpenter, won his lady by sheer 
force of will and of love; and a very happy married life they had, she 
cheering him when he was despondent, writing her novels and her 
poems for money, and bringing in society to be painted, and he working 
hard for his beloved art and his beloved wife. Nine years of happiness, 
and then he died, leaving her to return to Norwich, taking many of 
her husband’s pictures with her. Mrs. Opie did not give up society at 
once; indeed, for a while she could be seen in the gay world, at Paris 
with Cuvier and Lafayette, visiting David’s studio, where she met Lady 
Morgan, f&ted by the Comtesse de Genlis and Queen Marie Amalie. 
But gradually she turned towards good works and her Quaker friends, 
and though no gray dresses or quaint phraseology could make her dull, 
she adopted both, at least for a time. To the end she was sweet and 
pleasant to look upon; as Edward Irving once put it, when she was 
showing off her dead husband’s pictures, “I thought nought o’ the 
paintings ; it was the bonnie livin’ picture I saw.” Mrs. Opie saw 
the prorogation of Parliament in 1841 and the Exhibition of 1851, 
and lived till 1853. 

Here is one letter she wrote about the time she was bringing out 
“ Tales of the Heart,” “ Madelina,” “ Lying in all its Branches,” and 
soon after she had joined the Society of Friends : 

N. Basinghall Street, 7, 6th Mo 4th, 1829. 

Respected Friend, 

Be so good as to pay what is due to me into the hands of 
Messrs. Hoares, Barnetts & Co. 

Lombard Street. 

I do not see a view of Tilbury Fort, one of my husband’s pictures, amongs- 
the list of things sold. Surely it came up, but was overlooked. 

Believe me, thine with esteem, 

P.S. I leave town early next week for Paris. 

Vol. LIV.— 54 


A. Opie. 


850 


SOME NOTABLE WOMEN OF THE PAST 


The second note, in which the Quaker phraseology seems to be 
somewhat dropped, shows the kindly spirit which entered so warmly 
into the joys of others, — ‘‘ the little dears” being a young bride and 
bridegroom on their wedding tour. The “ beautiful garden” is the 
public one at Norwich, to which she by her private key had access. 


My dear Edmund, 

Please not to call on me tomorrow, for fear I should not be visible, or should 
be out. But if not better engaged, do, little dears, come, and dine with me, at 
\ past 5 or 6 — but come at four, to walk in my beautiful garden, which I shut at 
an hour after sunset by sound of bell. 

No one can walk there without a key, and I have one. I think you may 
go farther and fare worse, — but this you are better able to judge of than I am. 

One line in answer. 

With much ldve, 

Yours, 

Amelia Opie. 


Night, 

2 Castle Street, 11th Mo. 2d, 1834. 


Jane Porter’s first book has been supposed to be “Thaddeus of 
Warsaw,” but here we have an acknowledgment in her own hand- 
writing — bold, business-like, and decided — of a little humble fifteen 
pounds for a book which by the date must have preceded both 
“ Thaddeus” and “ The Scottish Chiefs,” a work which was well read 
and is not yet wholly forgotten : 


Reed March 31 1801 of Crosby & Litteman Fifteen Pounds for the full 
Copyright of my Book entitled Two Princes of Persia and the Copper Plate. 

Jane Porter. 

£15.0.0. 

Jane’s sister Anna Maria also wrote novels, and together they 
wrote “ Tales round a Winter’s Hearth.” Jane accompanied her 
brother, Sir Robert Porter, to St. Petersburg, and died at Bristol in 
1850. 

And now we pass to one of the most interesting women of that 
period. When many female novelists are forgotten, the name of Mary 
Somerville will still be fresh on the page of fame. Though for a long 
time unassisted, she mastered that science which some considered to be 
fit only for men. A child of nature was little Mary Fairfax as she ran 
about the small seaport town of Burntisland on the Firth of Forth, 
though her father, Captain Fairfax, now and then, when he returned 
home, made amusing efforts at education by causing Mary to read articles 
in the old “ Spectator,” with not much result. But Mary, without any 
one’s aid, gained a store of health which lasted her for nearly a century, 
and helped to form that hard brain capable afterwards of solving such 
tough problems ; while her mother, caring nothing about books, made 
the young girl sew and cook, unknowing that late at night Mary 
amused herself with Euclid. When at Edinburgh, however, Mary, 
then about fifteen years old, obtained a little help, but no one paid 
much attention to her studies. Eventually she had to marry, like other 
girls, and her choice fell unfortunately upon her cousin, Mr. Greig, 
who took her to London ; happily for her, he soon died, leaving her 


SOME NOTABLE WOMEN OF THE PAST. 


851 


with two little boys and no very pleasing remembrance of himself. 
Back she went to Fifeshire and studied again, and, being independent 
now, she did not care what people said about her silly studies. Again 
she married, another cousin, but this one, Somerville, was all that could 
be wished. He loved and admired his wife, and helped her in every 
way he could. After a time came the publication of “ Mechanism of 
the Heavens,” and then fame heaped all its honors on the once wild 
little Scotch girl. She was fited at Cambridge, at Paris, everywhere. 
Her next book, “ On the Connection of the Physical Sciences,” was 
dedicated to Queen Adelaide, and as she was at Paris at the time the 
proof-sheets had to go through the Embassy. Perhaps the following 
letter belongs to this time, and the mention of General de La Fayette 
gives it an interest more than personal. 

11 Rue de la Femme des Mathurins, Paris, 

16 November. 

My dear Mr. Hamilton, — 

I have much pleasure in sending you a letter to Mr. Airy, and shall be 
most happy if it should be of use to your son, of whose success I have not the 
smallest doubt from the proof he has already given of what he can do. I am 
delighted with the good account you give me of yourself and of those most dear 
to you, and rejoice that your new residence is so agreeable. We have been in 
Paris more than two months, and have had very great reason to be pleased with 
the kindness we have received. Nothing could be more flattering than the 
attentions I have experienced from the most distinguished scientific characters 
of the age, and the account of my work read by M. Biot at the Institute is the 
most gratifying thing I have yet met with. Besides scientific society, we are in 
the best circles in Paris, which we find so advantageous to the girls that we 
have determined to give them every opportunity of improvement; so I remain 
with them till some time in the spring, and is to iive with Dr. Somerville 
at Chelsea during our absence. I like the French society exceedingly, they are 
sociable, easy and kind. We spent a week with General de La Fayette at his fine 
old castle about thirty miles from Paris, and I must say that I never throughout 
the whole of my life met with so perfect a family. The kindness and benevo- 
lence of the venerable hero cast sunshine on all who approach him ; at once a 
pattern of mildness and dignity, he lives surrounded by his children to the fourth 
generation, adored by them and the whole neighborhood. The place is mag- 
nificent, and his greatest pleasure is cultivating an extensive farm in the English 
style. We sat down from 18 to 22 to dinner every day: we spent the evenings 
in the most interesting conversation, and the young people in music and dancing. 
Two of the granddaughters have formed a great intimacy with the girls, and are 
exactly the kind of companions I should wish them to have. You may believe 
the girls are much delighted with all they see and meet with, and though rather 
young to go much out, I think it a pity to lose such an opportunity of forming 
their manners. I have no doubt that Jane is as usual full of pursuit and that 
she is now excelling as much in drawing as she does in music and in all other 
things. We all unite in every cordial and kind wish to Mr. Hamilton, your- 
self, and to dear Jane; and believe me, my dear Mrs. Hamilton, your very 
affectionate friend, 

Mary Somerville. 

The fine running hand in which the above is written is character- 
istic of the time, but the extreme neatness, the well-formed letters, and 
the accurate distance between the lines, all bring the woman of science 
before us. 

In 1860 (twelve years after she had published her u Physical 
Geography”) Mrs. Somerville lost her beloved husband, but she re- 
tained her bright spirits and her wonderful health to the very end, 


852 


SOME NOTABLE WOMEN OF THE PAST. 


which was not till 1872, when in her ninety-second year; indeed, she 
was in her ninetieth year when she brought out “ Molecules and Micro- 
scopic Science.” Full of years and full of honor, the life of Mary 
Somerville is a very bright spot in the record of our clever women. 

Mrs. Somerville in one of her letters mentions, among the guests 
she met at the Miss Berrys’, the Miss Fanshawes as highly accom- 
plished and good artists ; “ besides which,” she adds, “ Miss Cath- 
erine Fanshawe wrote clever vers de societe , such as a charade on the 
letter H, and, if I am not mistaken, * The Butterfly’s Ball.’ I visited 
these ladies, but their manners were so cold and formal that though I 
admired their talents I never became intimate with them.” The cha- 
rade here alluded to was doubtless those well-known lines beginning 
“ ’Twas whispered in heaven, ’twas muttered in hell.” 

Catherine Fanshawe thus goes down to posterity as cold and formal, 
and certainly her careful writing and great precision of style are in- 
dicative of a cold, guarded nature ; but this letter with the interest it 
exhibits in those dear to her may put its writer in a pleasanter light 
and give us a better opinion of her : 

I am greatly obliged to you, my dear Madam, for the favor of your note 
and of the interesting communications which it contained and accompanied ; 
and I heartily rejoice with you in all the satisfactory intelligence which we now 
possess of one so dear to us. That Alpine journey must indeed in such a season 
have been tremendous; how happy must the Travellers have felt when safely 
delivered from the land of Bondage, though it is not quite clear to me whether 
till they reached Florence they thought themselves beyond the reach of espionage, 
and even when there whether they were fully aware of the mighty change which 
was approaching. From some symptoms relating to the Journal (which how- 
ever I expect with much pleasure) it must, I fear, have been in some degree 
written under the same restraints which shackled the pen of our Friend while 
at Paris, and we cannot but be far more anxious to see it picture the features 
of the Times than those of the Country, however beautiful. Her next Letters 
will be more interesting still, for now nothing can withhold her from disclosing 
the secrets of her Parisian prison house. 

I will write to her shortly, and shall take the liberty of troubling you with 
my Letter. I suppose a foreign mail goes out every week. 

My sisters desire to add their best compliments. 

Believe me, dear Madam, 

Your sincerely obliged 

Cath. M. Fanshawe. 

Cavendish Square. 

Not less honored than Mrs. Somerville during her life was Mrs. Fry, 
who as the reformer of English prisons will always live in the memory 
of her country. Her story is too well known to repeat, and the life of 
the brave Quaker lady was one long act of faith and charity. The 
persistent following of the single purpose of her life made her all- 
powerful, but, though she too received marks of honor from most of 
the reigning princes, she never sought personal glory, and certainly 
never wished for it. Married to a strict Quaker, she conformed to all 
the rules of her sect ; but she who knew how to comfort the sorrows of 
others so well was not exempt from suffering; yet loss of children and 
relations, loss of money, and loss of health, only made her cling more 
closely to Him in whom she had early put her trust. 

The following letter is worth reading as showing her interest in 


SOME NOTABLE WOMEN OF THE PAST. 


853 


the u curious people in the heart of India” who resembled her own 
Quakers, and also for the simple way in which she mentions her prison 
work. At this time she had already travelled much on the Continent 
to examine the prisons there and, if possible, to do good to the pris- 
oners of other nations ; for, if her creed was somewhat narrow, her 
charity was world-wide. 

Plashet House, 2nd Month 8 dy. 1823. 

Respected Friend, — 

I hope thou wilt excuse the liberty that I take in writing to make a request 
of thee. When we had the pleasure of seeing thy son and thyself at our house 
in town, he gave me an account of a curious people in the heart of India, who 
were very much like the Society of Friends in many of their habits and some 
of their principles. For particular reasons I am very anxious to know every- 
thing respecting them, and would be very much obliged to him if he would 
kindly communicate them to me by letter. I would not thus have troubled 
thee upon the subject, but I did not know his direction, and I also felt sure thou 
wouldst excuse my freedom in writing. I am glad to be able to tell thee that 
our prison cause continues to prosper, not only in London but in various parts 
of the kingdom, and also on the Continent. I hope thy health has not been 
the cause of thy being at Clifton, as I understand thy present residence is there. 
Be so kind when I have the pleasure of hearing from thee to let me know of thy 
health and of thy son’s, and believe me, 

With respect and regard, 

Thy friend, 

Elizth Fry. 

My direction is either Mildred’s Court, London, or Plashet House, Essex. 

A second letter* is also given to show how Newgate had now be- 
come almost a recognized meeting-place instead of a hell upon earth, 
which, before Mrs. Fry’s visits, it might certainly have been called. In 
both the writing shows a careful, patient nature. The letters are well 
formed and legible; there is no hurry or want of time about them. 
The calm of the Quakers is plainly visible. 


Plashet House, 2/14 — 1828. 

Dear Friend, — 

I consider myself much indebted to the Ophthalmic Infirmary ; therefore 
the least I can do is as far as I am able to assist it. To my name it is welcome 
as a patroness, if a name can do any good. For I do not see how I can promise 
much more ; my time, mind, and purse are so much pressed upon ; but if your 
committee like to have such a poor lame helper, they are welcome to have me. 

I should not like thee to have the trouble of calling upon me, for I know 
how much thy valuable time is occupied; but if thou still wishes to see me to 
tell me what is expected of these patronesses, I will endeavour to be at Mildred’s 
Court tomorrow, the 15th instant, at 10 minutes before one o’clock : being my^ 
Newgate morning, I could not be there sooner properly, but if thou liked to see 
me at Newgate, [my] reading would probably be over [at] £ past 11 o’clock, 
and I could after that time attend to thee there until £ past 12. 

I remain with much regard thy friend, 

Elizth Fry. 

Mrs. Fry died in 1845, having had the satisfaction of hearing that 
all the London prisons were more or less in excellent order and were 
regularly visited by the committee of ladies she had set on foot. 

Miss Mitford was another kindly soul, who, more literary than 


* Written in answer to a request to be one of the Patronesses of a great 
Bazaar, to be held at the Mansion House, in aid of the Ophthalmic Hospital. 


854 


SOME NOTABLE WOMEN OF THE PAST 


philanthropic as far as the public were concerned, followed the example 
of most of the other clever women of that time and wrote plays which 
were acted on the London boards. The author of “Our Village” was 
a great celebrity in her day, and the book is not forgotten now, and is 
worthy of a place on our book-shelves, but one appreciates the character 
of the author more than her works. The devoted daughter of a spend- 
thrift father, she early began to help him by winning at ten years of age 
twenty thousand pounds in a lottery, which, like most other badly earned 
money, was soon squandered. At the age of thirty-four she published 
the tragedy of “Julian;” then followed “The Foscari,” “Charles 
I.,” and “ Rienzi.” The letter we now give speaks for itself ; the 
writing is that of a clever woman and of one who, though accustomed 
to save, was at heart obviously generous, and the gracious spirit of its 
author shows itself clearly, so that we love the woman even if we no 
longer care much to read her village descriptions. 


Three Mile Cross, Sept Sth, 1826. 

My dear Sir, — I don’t know when I have been more distressed than to 
find myself the unconscious cause of so much annoyance to so kind and warm- 
hearted a person as yourself. Pray think no more of it. The abandonment of 
literary projects happens every day, sometimes from caprice in the individual 
concerned, sometimes from reasons really well founded, arising from some cir- 
cumstance of the Trade. I, for my part, never think myself ill used on such 
occasions, unless my articles are lost or detained, which you know has not been 
the case at present. Above all, I never should have dreamt of casting the 
lightest shadow of blame upon you, on whose zeal and intelligence I have so 
entire a reliance. I am only sorry that you should have allowed the matter to 
vex you so causelessly. If you think that Mr. Ebers will bring out his book 
this year you can retain the Articles ; if not be so good as to return them to me 
via Coley. Perhaps, unless you have very strong grounds to imagine that Mr. 
Ebers will pursue his intention, this last would be the best plan, as I am much 
pressed for contributions by Mr. Baylis and Mr. Blackwood, and these papers 
might and I think would suit one or other magazine. Act as you think best. 
I am heartily glad that I happened to write, or you would have gone on fretting 
for a month or two longer. 

Lord Levison Gower’s opinion is very flattering, especially as coming from 
one whose own productions evince so perfect a command over two languages. 
To have put the Faust into English so well as he has done is agreed by all 
adequate judges to be an almost unexampled triumph over obstacle and dif- 
ficulty. His translation was the more interesting to me as an intimate friend 
of my own (Marianne Skerrett, niece of the author of the Pursuits of Literature) 
had attempted the same arduous task. Her version, which is still unpublished 
and likely to remain so, has occasional passages of great felicity, especially the 
song of the Angels before the Throne, but is as a whole decidedly inferior to 
Lord Levison Gower’s. 

I am glad to hear that we are likely to see another work by the Author of 
Today in Ireland — an exceedingly pleasant and clever book— particularly in 
the humorous parts. 

Yes, I suppose that I must try a comedy, for which Charles Kemble cries 
out almost as hastily as you do; but I am very much afraid of the attempt. 
My second volume is not out yet, nor have I the slightest idea when it will, 
although it has been ready for publication these three months. 

We have no news from Wokingham, your cousins being still with Mrs. 
Hayward. Adieu, my dear sir. I am ever most sincerely yours, 

M. R. Mitford. 

Kindest regards from my father and mother. 

(To W. W. Ogbourn, Esqre.) 


SOME NOTABLE WOMEN OF THE PAST. 


855 


“ Charlotte Elizabeth/’ as the lady who was first Miss Browne, 
then Mrs. Phelan, and lastly Mrs. Tonna, is best known, said to a 
young friend on meeting her, “ Well, my dear, I hope you hate the 
Papists.” From this remark one can easily imagine that the story 
told of her youthful admiration for Foxe’s Book of Martyrs is true, 
and that she was a much-loved editor of “ The Christian Lady’s Maga- 
zine” in her later years. Her writing indeed betokens one who was 
both enthusiastic and narrow, but that she had Irish humor as well as 
Orange Protestantism is evident from the following letter to Lord 
Mountsandford : 

Edmonton, June 8, 1835. 

My dearest Lord, — 

Mr. Ayre was obliged to go out, and had just time to tell me to write and 
say how very, very welcome you will be on Monday. He is gone to pay his 
visit with the dear children to a friend. I have changed my lodgings, very 
much for the worse as regards externals, but I have escaped a system of cheat- 
ing and extorting that has kept me so poor for 4 years; and am now boarding 
myself. 

How I sympathise with you, my dear Lord, in that sad and harassing fact 
to which you refer, the moral and physical impossibility that these mere English 
should boil a potato properly ! As soon will the poor “jolterheads” understand 
the palpable distinction between a fresh egg and a new laid egg, as learn the 
noble art of potato-boiling. However, there is comfort for you, only I tell it in 
strict confidence, and you are to know nothing about it. There would be a 
rebellion in the female department if it was openly done — I mean among the 
ladies of the kitchen — but I have by my pathetic representations extorted per- 
mission from Mr. Ayre to cook some potatoes myself, and to smuggle them in. 
They will be done the real Irish way ; and if there be any fault, you may 
depend on its resulting from the awkward mode of growing’ in England, and 
not from a defect in the mode of cooking. I can bate the world, east of St. 
George’s channel, at cooking a potato, making a pan of stirabout, inducing hens 
to lay fresh eggs, mixing a bowl of whiskey punch, or brightening up a turf fire 
with a handful of bog-wood. Pity that such rare accomplishments should lie 
dormant in stupid Edmonton, where sorra a see can you see of anything rational, 
barring when your Lordship brings the sunshine upon us. 

My very kind love to dear Mrs. Bramston and party — and I am with all 
the veins of my heart, 

Your Lordship’s dutiful cook, 

Charlotte E. Phelan. 

Miss Browne’s father was rector of St. Giles, Norwich, a city 
famous at that time for good and intellectual society. Her first hus- 
band, Captain Phelan, was the cause of her taking the name of Char- 
lotte Elizabeth, for he laid claim to the proceeds of her literary work. 
When living on his estates in Kilkenny she made up her mind that 
the ills of Ireland arose from its religion, and strove hard to convert 
the “ Papists.” Her writings will certainly not be known to posterity ; 
“ Chapters on Flowers” may still perhaps be found among the old books 
on our shelves, but the Christian Lady’s Magazine is very dry reading. 

The melancholy fate of L. E. L., otherwise Miss Letitia Landon, 
makes the slight note we have from her, in her very small writing, — 
somewhat sentimental-looking, but not devoid of originality, — interest- 
ing as a relic of the poetess whose poetry was like honey, of which a 
little goes a long way, and whose tragic marriage to Captain Maclean, 
Governor of Cape Coast Castle, ended in her being found one morning 
poisoned, either by herself or by some one else: 


856 


SOME NOTABLE WOMEN OF THE PAST. 


Friday, 22 Hans Place. 

Dear Mrs. Fagan,— 

I have delayed answering your very kind note till the last minute, hoping 
that it would be in my power to accept your invitation, but I still continue so 
unwell, that I fear for some days at least I shall not be out of the house, to 
which I have been confined since Monday. 

Pray accept my best thanks, and regards to yourself and Miss Gibbon, and 
may I add my kind comp 18 to Colonel Fagan. 

Very truly your obliged, 

L. E. Landon. 

[L. E. L .] 

Yet L. E. L. was at one time petted by society, produced tales and 
poems without end, and edited for eight years “ Fisher’s Drawing- 
Room Scrap-Book,” which in those days answered the purpose of our 
Christmas numbers, magazines, and illustrated papers. But who now 
reads “ The Troubadour,” “ The Venetian Bracelet,” or “ The Vow of 
the Peacock”? In 1838 the woman whose life, so unlike the lives of 
many of her literary sisters, shows but little usefulness in it, passed 
away and was buried in the African soil to which she had only lately 
come as a bride. 

In ending this paper we will add a short note of Miss Strickland, 
from whose biography the world has learnt all that it cares to know of 
that industrious writer, who will be remembered, if not read, by pos- 
terity as one who patiently chronicled the doings and sayings of the 
Queens and Princesses of England. This letter was apparently written 
not long after or during the appearance of her “ Queens.” The dashing 
untidy writing has little of the historian in it, though much decision 
of character, and some artistic perception, which often marks the hand- 
writing of authors : 

May 7. 

Dear Sir, — 

I beg you to accept my sincere thanks both for your gratifying approval of 
my Queens, and your friendly little offering of the curious old print of James II. 
and his bishops. 

I am always thankful for anything illustrative of any portion of the work, 
and shall value this as a proof of very kind attention from one of my gentle 
readers. “ The children’s crumples” — God bless them ! are not of a very serious 
nature, and though perhaps no improvement, may be obliterated by pressure. 

Pray give my love to them, and believe me to be, 

Dear Sir, 

Your sincerely obliged 

Agnes Strickland. 

Meydon Hall, 

Wangford, Suffolk. 

On looking back over our thirteen names, we can but come to the 
conclusion that the past generation which we have been considering can 
furnish a goodly list of clever and good women, women at all events 
who could bear comparison with the most distinguished of our own 
day. Moreover, amidst much popularity, and somewhat overdone 
homage perhaps, they never forgot that they could be authors and 
yet women too, possessing all the womanly virtues which even with- 
out genius — as in the case of Mrs. Fry — can make for themselves an 
undying name. 


Esml Stuart . 


AN ODD NEIGHBOR. 


857 


AN ODD NEIGHBOR. 

I. 

T HERE was a strange silence everywhere, as is not uncommon in 
the month of August, for now the promises of summer have been 
made good, and the world is at rest. Not a leaf stirred, and, except 
the plaintive note of some far-off bird, I could hear only my own 
footfalls. The trees and fields and shaded winding lane were as I 
had seen them last, when darkness shut them in, but now, in the early 
morning, it seemed as if the sun had brought sad tidings. It has 
always appeared to me that August days are days for retrospection, 
and that the mind is supersensitive at such a time. It takes notice of 
those things which in the hurry and clatter of June are overlooked. 
This is no mere whim, and on this occasion the effect was to convince 
me that something unusual had happened or was about to occur. 
It is not an uncommon experience. Premonitions are too frequent 
to be lightly treated as mere coincidences. It was this clearly pre- 
monitory action that made the world seem to me completely at rest. 
There are matter-of-fact folks who would testily remark, “ Dyspepsia 
there are people of excellent intentions who persistently blunder. 

I had heard of an oaken chest, with huge brass clamps, and to-day 
set out to find it. There was not a wagon to be seen when I turned 
from the lane into the township road, and so I had the dusty highway 
to myself, a furthering of my fancy. Even more lonely was the wood- 
road into which I turned, and of late it had been so little used, it was 
as much the meeting-ground of bird-life as of humanity. Everywhere 
it was shaded by cedars of great age or by elms under which the moss 
had grown since colonial days. Along this ancient way the rambler 
has little to remind him of the changes wrought in the passing century. 
What few houses are passed in the course of a long walk are old-time 
structures, and more than one has been abandoned. The reason was 
plain : the land is poor, and whatever inducements were held out to 
the original settlers had not been continued to the fifth and sixth genera- 
tions. Still, not all the tract had reverted to forest. A little garden- 
plot about each of the cottages that were occupied was still held back, 
by spade and hoe, from the encroachments of wild growth, and in the 
last cottage to be reached, surrounded by every feature of an old- 
fashioned garden, lived Silas Crabtree. As a child I had feared him, 
and now I both disliked and admired him ; why — as is so often the 
case — I could not tell. 

The man and his house were not unlike. The cottage was a long, 
low building, one and a half stories high. A window on each side of 
the door barely showed beneath the projecting roof of a narrow porch 
extending the full length of the front. There was a single step from 
the porch to the ground. From the roof projected two squat dormer 
windows. The shingles were darkened by long exposure, and patches 
of moss grew about the eaves. Silas was like this. The windows and 


858 


AN ODD NEIGHBOR. 


door and long low step recalled his eyes, nose, and mouth, overtopped 
by low projecting brows and unkempt hair, that were well represented 
by the cottage roof with its moss and dormers. So far the house and 
its solitary inmate; but the open well with its long sweep, the clump 
of lilacs, the spreading beech with initials cut long years ago, — these 
were a poem. 

While the day was yet young, I passed by, and Silas was sitting on 
the porch. The quiet of this month of day-dreams was unbroken. 
The catbird hopped about the grass, but was mute; a song-sparrow 
was perched on the topmost twig of a dead quince-bush, but did not 
sing; a troop of crows was passing overhead in perfect silence. Feel- 
ing more strongly than ever the moodiness of the morning, I strove 
to break the spell by shouting, with unnecessary emphasis, “ Good- 
morning, Uncle Silas.” With a sudden start the old man looked up 
and stared wildly about him. Straightway the catbird chirped, the 
sparrow sang, and from over the tree-tops came the welcome cawing 
of the crows. Even a black cat came from the house and rubbed its 
arched back against Silas’s knees. The spell was broken, and the old 
man growled (for he could not talk as other men), “ I’m glad you’ve 
come.” 

“ Oh, I was only passing by : were you asleep ?” 

“Sleepin’ or not, I wasthinkin’ of you. Come in.” 

Stepping rather reluctantly into the yard, I sat down on the floor 
of the porch near Silas, — for he did not offer to get me a chair, — and 
waited for him to speak. 

“ As a boy,” said Silas, in softer tones than I had ever heard before, 
“you had a grudge again’ me, as your father had again’ mine, and 
your grandpap again’ mine, and so on away back. It never showed 
much, that I know of, but the feelin’ was there: and yet we started 
even, for my folks came from England as long ago as yourn. I know 
now how it all came about. It’s down in some old papers in the desk 
that I’ve had a man come and go over. It’s plain now why folks never 
set store by the Crabtrees ; but it’s all right, and soon the ground will 
be cleared for something better than Crabtrees to grow on.” 

“Why, what do you mean?” I asked, purposely interrupting the 
old man, thinking he might be merely working off the effects of too 
frequent potations, — a no uncommon occurrence. 

“ Can’t you wait till you find out ? I’ve had a man here, I say, 
who could do the writin’ and read the old papers. That’s enough for 
that. Now, it was this way. Away back, the old Crabtree of them 
days had a notion of thinkin’ for himself, and, foolish-like, sayin’ what 
he thought. So the Friends, as they call themselves, made him write 
out why he did this and said that, but it went for nothin’, and they 
turned him out o’ meetin’. You’ll find the same in the meetin’ records 
as you will in there.” And Silas pointed his thumb over his shoulder, 
towards the house. Even this slight movement was made with some 
effort ; but it was evident that Silas had not been drinking. 

“ Before all this happened,” the old man continued, after a long 
pause, “ the Crabtrees were all right. Away back, they were looked at 
for their shade and shape and sweet-smellin’ blossoms and all that ; but 


AN ODD NEIGHBOR. 


859 


after the racket, then it was only the sour crab-apples that people could 
see, and this worked again’ the young folks and pulled ’em down. 
Perhaps you don’t see what I’m drivin’ at, but ” 

“ Don’t see !” I exclaimed ; “ Uncle Silas, you’re a poet, a 
poet.” 

“ A what ?” Silas asked, with a faint attempt at smiling. “ You’ve 
called me many a name in your day, like all the rest of ’em, but never 
that afore this, that I know.” 

“ I meant to be complimentary,” I replied, but with some confusion, 
seeing, as I had often done before, what mischief lurks in ill-timed 
polysyllables. 

“Worse and worse, with your long words; but let me do the 
talkin’. My folks didn’t clear out after the fuss, as they ought ’a’ 
done, but held on and worked their way, as they’d a right to do. 
Perhaps it was a bad thing they didn’t go to church when they stopped 
goin’ to meetin’ ; I don’t know ; but they lost headway, with the 
Quakers again’ ’em. It soured, of course, the first of the Crabtrees, and 
the later ones got a deal more gnarly and bitter, till it come down to 
me, with little more’n human shape; and now it’s the end of us. 
There’s no Crabtree besides me, and I wanted to get things in shape, 
for there’s some would like the old cottage that ain’t goin’ to get it. I 
don’t know that there’s any more to tell you.” And Silas looked out 
towards the road and into the woods upon its other side. 

I kept my seat. I could not do otherwise. The Silas of to-day 
was not he whom I had known in years past. Although there was no 
evidence of it in the old man’s words, I was convinced he had reference 
to me as his heir; but what of that? He might change his mind a 
dozen times, for he was not so very, very old, — not much, if any, over 
eighty ; and what, indeed, had he to leave? 

Many minutes passed, and then, as I made a slight movement, 
merely to change my position, Silas spoke in the same strangely softened 
voice. “Don’t go, don’t go; there’s one thing more ” He sud- 

denly paused, and stared, with a wild look, directly at me. The silence 
was painful ; his strange appearance more so. In a moment the truth 
flashed across me : he was dead. 

II. 

I was not surprised to learn, immediately after the funeral, that I 
had been left the sole legatee of the man whose death I had witnessed ; 
but it was not an altogether pleasant discovery. I had learned, too, 
that it was my own ancestor who had been most active in the senseless 
persecution, and it was with no pleasure that I recalled the past as I 
took formal possession of the cottage and its contents, entering the 
house for the first time in my life. To cross the threshold was to step 
backward into colonial times. How true it is that it needs at least a 
century to mellow a house and make it faintly comparable to out-of- 
doors ! 

The hall-way of the Crabtree cottage was neither short nor narrow, 
but you got that impression from its low ceiling and the dark wooden 
walls, which time had almost blackened. Lifting a stout wooden latch, 


860 


AN ODD NEIGHBOR. 


I passed into the living-room, with its ample open fireplace, long 
unused, for a little air-tight stove had done duty for both cooking and 
heating for many years. This was the only innovation : all else was 
as when its first occupant had moved into the “ new” house and given 
over the log hut to other uses. The high-backed settle, the quaint, 
claw-footed chairs, a home-made table, with bread-trough underneath, 
seemed never to have been moved from their places since Silas’s mother 
died. These made less impression than would otherwise have been the 
case, because with them was the old desk to which Silas had referred. 
It was a bureau with five brass-handled drawers, and above them the 
desk proper, concealed by a heavy, sloping lid. The dark wood had 
still a fine polish, and the lid was neatly ornamented with an inlaid 
star of holly wood. It, with the three-plumed mirror on the wall 
above it, was the eclipsing feature of the room. All else, well enough 
in its way, seemed commonplace. Drawing a chair in front of the 
desk, I sat down to explore it, but was bewildered at the very outset. 
Lowering the lid, the many pigeon-holes, small drawers, and inner 
apartment closed by a carved door, took me too much by surprise to 
let me be methodical. Everywhere were old, stained papers and parch- 
ments, some so very old the ink had faded from them ; but there was 
no disorder. At last, knowing it was no time to dream, I drew out a 
bundle of papers from a pigeon-hole, and noticed in doing so that a 
strip of carved wood, which I had taken for ornament, slightly moved. 
It proved to be a long and very narrow drawer, and this again had a 
more carefully hidden compartment in the back, as a narrow line in 
the wood showed. Peering into this, I found a scrap of paper so long 
and closely folded that it fell apart when opened ; but the writing was 
still distinct. It was as follows : “ It is his Excellency’s, Genl. Howe’s, 
express order, that no person shall injure Silas Crabtree in his person 
or property.” It was duly signed, countersigned, and dated Dec’r 9, 
1776. So Silas, the great-grandfather, had been a Tory ! I was pre- 
pared now for revelations of any kind. To look quietly over papers, 
one at a time, was too prosy an occupation, and the suggestion that 
there might be more secret drawers was followed until every nook and 
cranny had been laid bare, and there were many of them. 

Silas, in anticipation of just such an occurrence as I have described, 
had placed a roll of papers so prominently in the desk that I naturally 
took it up with a serious purpose. The modern red tape with which 
it was tied gave it an appearance of importance above the others. 
These time-stained sheets contained his ancestor’s version of the trouble 
with his coreligionists, and I soon found it was most unpleasant read- 
ing. My own ancestor had been an unrelenting persecutor, and, in the 
name of religion, the cause of all the Crabtree troubles; and now the 
last of his race had taken this strange revenge, telling me the unwel- 
come story why his people had been nobodies of the backwoods and 
my people dwellers in fat-land. It was some satisfaction to know that 
the two families were not related, but, reading on and on as fast as the 
crude writing permitted decipherment, I learned that a marriage, gen- 
erations ago, had been contemplated, and successfully thwarted by the 
father of the would-be bride. Nothing but ill came of it, and the 


GHOSTS. 


861 


rest we know. The wit of the Crabtrees had not quite died out, but 
smouldered like the burning of damp wood, never receiving the quick- 
ening of education, and ever struggling against the curse of alcohol. 

It was a sad story ; too sad to contemplate, this dreamy August 
day. Closing the desk, I sat by the open fireplace, as if watching the 
blazing logs of midwinter. As silent now in-doors as out, and every 
object about me suggesting myself as the cause of infinite trouble, I 
grew desperate, and, for more light, a bit of sunshine, threw open 
the solid shutter of the little south window. The bright yellow beams 
were magical. What a strange little window it was ! Three of the 
eight small panes were replaced by paper, and the others were all 
dimmed by decomposition that made the glass prismatic. Through 
them no object could be plainly seen. Every tree and bush was broken 
and distorted. The world was all askew as seen through the cracked 
and warped glass; as much gone wrong as in reality it had been to the 
Crabtrees. 

Though not half explored, I went from the house to the porch, 
that I might return from the past to the present. How hot and steamy 
were the far-off woods and the one single clearing in sight ! The 
sizzling rattle of the noontide cicada was the only sound. I gladly 
returned to the old fireplace, although it was mid-August, and then to 
the desk, putting on some show of rationality, for Crabtree’s lawyer 
was expected. I even made a fire in the little stove to warm the lunch 
I had brought, and, after an attempt at eating, awaited the man’s coming, 
with pipe and coffee. 

A rattle of wheels, a click of the rickety old gate’s latch, and a knock 
at the door, quickly followed each other, and without ceremony the 
lawyer appeared. With a coolness, precision, and dry-as-dust manner 
that soothed my fretted nerves, he proceeded to business, and did what 
little was to be done. Some papers which he had taken away he 
returned; and then, his whole manner changing, he actually smiled, 
lit a cigar, filled with a true lazy man’s twist the single easy-chair, and 
handed me a bit of paper, saying, “ This Silas asked me to hand to 
you, fearing it might be overlooked if left in the desk.” 

I took it with some distrust, but could not fathom its meaning. 
The characters had been printed by Silas and the words phonetically 
spelled. It was a puzzle, and I was in no humor to guess its meaning. 

“ What is it, anyway ?” I asked. 

“ That’s plain enough,” the lawyer replied: "it reads, 'Do as 
you’d be done by.’ ” 

Charles C. Abbott. 


GHOSTS. 

T HREE ghosts there are that haunt the heart, 
Whate’er the hour may be : 

The ghost called Life, the ghost called Death, 
The ghost called Memory. 


Clarence Urmy. 


862 


TALKS WITH THE TRADE. 


TALKS WITH THE TRADE. 

THE PERSONAL ELEMENT. 

H ERE are three notes of a kind we have not hitherto cited. 

“Your letter gave me more pleasure than I can well express. Let me 
thank you for your kindness in writing it. To do good work is my ambition 
of ambitions ; and your encouragement, your appreciation, are most gratifying. 
— E. C.” 

“ I thank you very earnestly for your letter and for your criticism. I am 
sure you will not regret having broken your rules to say a helpful word to me. 
— E. H.” 

“Some weeks ago you returned some verses of mine with a few kindly words 
that took all the discouragement out of the rejection. If those I now offer have 
the same fate, I shall still be glad that I sent them. The human touch in a few 
written words of refusal outweighs a printed acceptance. — M. G.” 

These friendly expressions indicate a point of view which is all but uni- 
versally and yet not very wisely taken. We all feel that we would like to be 
acquainted with the editors to whom we send the small children of our brains, 
and to get a civil word from them when they return our offerings, or — far better 
— when they send a check instead ; but for practical purposes the difference 
between acquaintance and non-acquaintance is much less important than is 
commonly supposed. A rational editor is as glad to receive an article that he 
can use from a total stranger as if it came from his oldest and most intimate 
friend — unless he is anxious to oblige the friend, which may be very human, but 
is not “ business.” And when the editor accepts your MS., it may be taken for 
granted that he approves it, whether he writes to tell you so or not. 

There is no use of arguing against a universal sentiment; but it may be 
worth while to point out that sentiment is one thing and practicality another. 
Every one feels, as an eminent author lately wrote us, that he would rather deal 
with somebody he knows than with a stranger. That feeling is by no means con- 
fined to literary dealings ; but in ordinary literary dealings it is a feeling which 
has small basis in fact. Most of those who write for the magazines, like our 
friends who are quoted above, prefer to hear from the editor in person rather 
than through a stereotyped form — though few would agree with M. G. in letting 
“ a few written words of refusal outweigh a printed acceptance.” The “ human 
touch” goes for a good deal with human beings. Even the hardened editor, 
beneath his heavy defensive armor, is usually more or less human : when he 
gets an uncommonly good story, or essay, or poem, he feels like expressing his 
joy at once and establishing human relations with the author — though common 
sense and doleful experience are apt to bid him refrain. The human feeling is 
very natural, and very proper and harmless in its place ; but it ought to have, 
and usually has, nothing to do with business, as we shall go on to show. 

A young writer almost invariably fancies that if he were known in the 
proper quarters his way would be easier and his success assured. Not neces- 
sarily : we might almost say not at all, for if his work is taken on the ground 
of personal acquaintance, there must be something rotten in the state of that 
particular Denmark. It does not — or it ought not to — matter where he comes 
from or what are his personal charms or virtues : the only introduction he ought 


TALKS WITH THE TRADE. 


863 


to need is that of his pen. He' — or she — may be a millionaire or a social leader : 
docs that fact make his (or her) writings any more readable or more instructive? 
Editors and “ readers” who are fit for their posts necessarily judge MSS. on im- 
personal grounds. In the office of any properly conducted periodical the merit 
of an article is far more important than its source. A publishing house brings 
out books because they seem likely to sell, not because they are by friends of 
the firm. Established reputation counts, of course, because it indicates probable 
quality in, and commands attention for, whatever bears a noted name ; but would 
any publisher or editor hesitate over the work of Captain King or Mr. Thomas 
Hardy because he had not met them socially ? Did Mr. Howells or Mr. Kipling 
make his successes by having friends at court ? 

A pretty story is told of how that warm-hearted woman, the late Helen Hunt 
Jackson, on discovering a young poetess fresh from the West, bundled the lady 
and her MSS. into a hack, drove triumphantly through a snow-storm to the 
office of a great magazine, and there demanded and obtained instant recogni- 
tion and success for her prot4g4e. If the tale were true it would imply worse 
management than any successful magazine is apt to enjoy. An editor would 
be justly doomed who should accept a lady’s poems because he liked her looks 
and manners, or because she had a powerful patron. If the poems are of the 
right sort, she needs no other introduction ; if not, no amount of backing and 
boosting can change their character. 

As a matter of fact, a business-like editor is apt to feel bored and somewhat 
resentful when would-be contributors bring him a personal introduction, or send 
their wares through some third party who is supposed to have repute and influ- 
ence. Their so doing complicates a transaction which ought to be simple and 
direct: it calls for double entries in the books and the writing of useless letters 
— and it adds nothing to the value of the offered MS. No reputation is able to 
carry double : a sketch or story by a new hand is not a bit better for being 
vouched for by some benevolently interested party whose own work, perhaps, 
has recognized merit. It will be looked into far enough to see what it amounts 
to; and this is precisely what would happen if James Johnson of Sand Hills 
sent it with no endorsement to back his own humble name. An honorable phy- 
sician gives the same care to each of his patients, whether prince or pauper, and 
an honorable editor views the MSS. that come to him with equal impartiality. 
They are all alike to him, till some prove to be better than the rest. He knows 
that a gem is liable to arrive by any mail from the obscurest village, and that 
what is not only recommended but signed by a familiar and respected name 
may not be suited to his purpose. Moreover, he prefers to deal with principals 
and not with middlemen. It is of no use to get somebody to tell him that you 
are a gifted young man and that this is a fine piece : he is going to judge of the 
piece for himself, and of your gifts by what he finds, or does not find, in the 
piece. 

Of course, if one wants “ work” or “ a situation” he needs to know people, 
and plenty of them, and to keep reminding the right ones of his claims. As 
Arthur Clough put it in his modernized decalogue, — 


Honor thy parents — that is, all 
From whom advantage may befall. 

Or if one cares to belong to a Society of Mutual Admiration, conducted on the 
you-tickle-me-I-tickle-you principle, he is liable to have his reward. Mr. Young 


864 


TALKS WITH THE TRADE . 


Hustler, let us say, does the “ literary notes” for the Hewgag : let him mention 
on every due occasion that Mr. Get There Quick is a very rising author, and let 
Mr. Quick, in the Weekly Whangdoodle , frequently expatiate on the brilliant 
talents of Mr. Hustler ; all this labor will probably not be w r asted. If there are 
six of them the effect will be greater — at least three times as great. To be often 
in the papers is a boon not to be despised ; does it not pass for fame with many 
good Americans? All this, to be sure, is “business” and not literature; but 
there are myriads who do not know the difference, and after this fashion many 
reputations — such as they are and what there is of them — are born and nour- 
ished. 

But if you have a soul above manufactured goods of this kind — if you de- 
spise shams and enjoy a sufficient income, or if your temper be so philosophic 
that you can “ cultivate literature on a little oatmeal” — then you can afford to 
stay at home or travel and take notes quietly, and let your w^ares go on their 
merits, assured that real lovers and judges of literature are much less disposed 
to inquire what your social station or range of acquaintance may be than w r hat 
you can do. When you have begun to write things that they care for, then they 
will begin to take a personal interest in you. 

A leading magazine in a sister city says there is too much writing, — that, 
short of genius, there is no particular need for any one to write anything. 
The editor of another lately confessed that his encouragement of promising 
beginners had done harm rather than good. These are not merely cries of 
weariness, wrung from daily experience that of the making of MSS. there is 
no end. Too many books and articles are printed, and too many penned that 
never get into print— just as there are too many groceries and candy-shops and 
peanut-stands, and more young lawyers and doctors than can possibly succeed. 
The wise will not urge any of ordinary talents to literary pursuits ; but since 
people will write, somebody must judge and discriminate between their efforts ; 
and why not hold out a cautious and moderate encouragement to such as seem 
to have it in them to do rt well ? 

A brother scribe, citing these Talks, says that we “ probably know very well 
that the young writer who inquires is the young writer without a chance of 
success.” With due deference, we know nothing of the kind. It is probable, 
we admit, but not certain. Were we not all young once, and green as grass, 
with our experience yet to gain? The beginner who asks ignorant or silly 
questions is not necessarily beyond hope, since he or she may learn and grow. 
We prefer to maintain a human attitude toward these tyros, in view of their 
possibilities, and, when any of them learn to write, to give them the same 
chance with the old hands. Let there be at least one magazine — we may trust 
that there are a dozen — where the lists are open to all comers, and the character 
of the offered MS. is of more consequence than a pedigree, an introduction, or 
even an established reputation. 


BOOKS OF THE MONTH 


865 


BoofeS of t&e i®iont|), 

WITH SPECIAL REFERENCE TO THE HOLIDAY SEASON. 


Colonial Days and 
Dames- By Anne 
Hollingsworth 
Wharton. 


After all is said, there is no way to write history so 
good as the gossipy way. When one advances on the 
serried volumes of a Gibbon or a Hume he becomes 
either a hero and achieves by force of will or a craven 
who prefers to “fight another day.” If he takes the 
latter alternative, there are many arguments to support his choice. He may 
still have his history in the far more cheerful Memoirs, Autobiographies, and 
Confessions of the time he seeks to know ; he will have the information at 
first hand ; and, better still, the atmosphere and very spirit of the age will steal 
into his mind unadulterated by the views of another, and recreate vitally a 
period otherwise remote and lifeless. 

This is the charming manner of the wide, diligent, and sympathetic reader 
who has written for throngs of other readers the delightful book called so aptly 
Colonial Days and Dames, which comes to us fresh from the Lippincott press. 
Miss Anne Hollingsworth Wharton knows her colonial days and dames very 
intimately through the traditions of the old towns, through the gossip of ladies 
and gentlemen of the old school, and through the dusty books which have lain 
by through an age of neglect only to appear the more precious in this tide of 
the worship of our forefathers. From such hallowed sources, often enough 
droll and merry as well as venerable, she has taken the finer flavors and mixed 
them together in a volume so fresh and new in its manner that it has an irre- 
sistible fascination. To the outlander who knows us not, the human interest 
would alone render these chapters diverting ; but to us whose blood flows from 
the family sources of which she familiarly speaks,— to the Colonial Dames, the 
Sons of the Revolution, and what not, — there must be a lasting interest in a 
book which so deftly strikes off character by anecdote and recalls a myriad 
of associations by the recital of a single typical one. 

The divisions of the book are entitled Colonial Days, Women in the Early 
Settlement, Early Poetesses, Old Landmarks, Colonial Dames, Weddings and 
Merry-Makings, Legends and Romance. These seven essays have, as the titles 
imply, each a distinct motive ; but collectively they give a far-reaching view of 
early Pennsylvania, Virginia, New York, and the East such as no formal history 
aims to provide. The simplicity and pleasant conversational vein of Miss 
Wharton’s narrative lose no dignity by being familiar, and gain in clearness 
by avoiding ceremony. 

As a sample of book-making, we have seen nothing more tasteful and dainty 
than this, enveloped in light-blue covers adorned with white designs, and em- 
bellished internally with a series of vignettes by Mr. Edward Stratton Holloway 
which are in singular harmony with the text. 


The publication of a book of verse can hardly be con- 
sidered an unusual event, or one of peculiar interest, but 
poetry continues as rare as it is enchanting. Of the volume 
just issued by Mr. Morris it may be said that no more 
poetic note has been touched in this unpoetic day. By subtlety of insight, by 
Vol LIV.— 55 


Madonna and Other 
Poems. Written by 
Harrison S. Morris. 


866 


BOOKS OF THE MONTH. 


sincerity of feeling, by breadth of diction, and by distinction of phrase, it re- 
calls the great ones of the early half of the century, and appeals to a sensitive 
appreciation. The Marsyas and The Wood Robin might have been written 
by Keats, The Daffodil by Wordsworth himself. Yet, though Mr. Morris has 
manifestly felt the influence of these masters, there is in his poetry nothing 
imitative. For his sources of inspiration he has gone directly to Nature, 
bringing to the study of her mysteries a reverent and intuitive vision, and re- 
vealing them with a directness of utterance and a freshness of emotion not 
taught him in the schools. It would seem incredible that, after Wordsworth, 
any lines upon the daffodil should prove wholly satisfactory, but, even with 
Wordsworth in mind, Mr. Morris’s poem thrills by the impression of pure and 
exalted beauty. 

His gift is lyric rather than dramatic, his feeling for Nature is his greatest 
power, and in poems such as the elegiac To a Comrade, The Cricket, The 
Lonely-Bird, Orchard-Lore, One weeping by the Wayside, etc., we realize how 
closely he interprets her, how near he brings us to her heart. The human in- 
terest is, however, nowhere lacking, and in Sartor Resartus, Madonna, Birds of 
Passage, Sadie, and A Pine-Tree Buoy, as well as in many other poems, it is 
strongly felt. 

Of his art of picture-making, of conveying much in few words, many 
illustrations might be given, but we have space for only one or two. 

The lake, like steady wine in a deep cup, 

Lay crystal in the curving mountain deeps. 

The Lonely-Bird. 

This was the message ; then the stair 
Folded along the singing air, 

And, like a beacon on a hill, 

Burnt out in gold the daffodil. 

The Daffodil. 

In external beauty this volume will hold its own with the rarest work of 
the year. It has been put together with unusual skill and taste, and in the 
artistic setting of the type, the symmetry of the pages, the excellence in color 
and quality of the paper, the decorative head-pieces which suggest, without 
intruding upon, the text, it is the perfection of book-makings The designs both 
outside and inside are the work of Mr. Edward Stratton Holloway. The frontis- 
piece is from the brush of Mr. Frank Vincent DuMond, an artist noted for his 
pictures upon tender devotional subjects. 

The extraordinary renaissance of interest in Napoleon 
which we are now witnessing will doubtless create a new 
historic figure from the shattered fragments of the accepted 
character so long labelled by that name. The wily and 
cruel conqueror is likely to be replaced by a man true to 
his friends, implacable to his enemies, ambitious and suc- 
cessful both in love and in war, and swayed by the human 
emotions which affect us all. 

The intimate side of Napoleon’s character has been rendered plainer to us 
by the recent issue of the several memoirs of those officially near to him. The 
disappearance of the older generation has permitted these to see the light ; but 


Napoleon and the 
Fair Sex. Also, 
Napoleon at Home. 
2 vols. Illustrated. 
Translated from the 
French of Frederic 
Masson. 


BOOKS OF THE MONTH. 


867 


editors are still reticent upon many incidents of the Emperor’s career which 
had been held undebatable until the issue of M. Fr6deric Masson’s works en- 
titled Napoleon and the Fair Sex and Napoleon at Home. These, we are told by 
the author, are the first of a series of studies he proposes to publish successively, 
in which he means to give the result of his wide and tireless researches with 
absolute independence. It is essential, he asserts, in the historic development 
of the complete figure of the Emperor, to note his relations with women, and 
the routine of his daily life ; and this the learned writer proceeds to do in a way 
so thorough, so free from prejudice, and so judicial, that the narratives are fasci- 
nating in the very clearness of their contour. 

“ It is essential,” says M. Masson, “ to see what sort of woman attracted 
him, what were his relations with her, and what the feelings, physical or moral, 
she inspired in him ; to inquire which of his actions were attributable to 
woman’s influence, and how far his thoughts and ideas were modified by the 
beauty and conversation of women in daily intercourse.” Hence we have chap- 
ters devoted to the passions of Napoleon’s youth; to his marriage to Josephine; 
to Madame Four4s ; to Grassini ; to actresses such as Mile. Georges, Th6rese 
Bourgoin, and others; to a nameless inamorata; to Stephanie de Beauharnais; 
to Eleonore Denuelle ; to Madame Walewska ; and, finally, to Marie Louise. The 
tone of the book is one of profound respect for the memory of its great subject, 
and if the pitiless light of modern research is thrown upon the Emperor’s secret 
passions it is tempered by the apparently honorable purpose of the writer. The 
chapters of the two volumes entitled Napoleon at Home will give a clue to the 
far-reaching character of that work. They are Etiquette, The Apartments, 
their Protection, The Toilet, The Morning Levee, Dejefiner, The Emperor’s 
Study, The Emperor at Work, The Dinner, The Evening, Sunday. In an 
appendix we have much minute information about Napoleon’s wardrobe, articles 
of costume, articles of ordinary and daily use, arms, jewels, and orders, being 
thoroughly and knowingly dwelt upon. M. Masson is a finished writer, and 
Napoleon and the Fair Sex and Napoleon at Home , published by the J. B. Lippin- 
cott Co., are books which every reader and student of French history as it has 
affected our contemporary life will desire. The former handsome octavo of 
three hundred and twenty pages is embellished with a number of portrait plates 
by Boussod, Valadon et Cie., of Paris, a sufficient warrant of their excellence; 
and the latter two volumes are illustrated by F. de Myrbach, an eminent French 
artist. 


The illustration of history through the channels of biog- 
raphy has become of late a prevailing literary method, and 
it is one to be applauded and encouraged. History is too 
apt to show us either the procession of dissociated figures 
across the stage of time, or to reflect the prejudices of its 
author. The element of biography imports into the story 
action, human interest, warmth, light, and truth. There 
is something to grasp and to remember, and there is an added ring of sincerity 
when the events of a period can be made legitimately to radiate from a central 
figure. 

This is the admirable method adopted by Mr. Charlemagne Tower, Jr., 


The Marquis de La 
Fayette in the 
American Revolu- 
tion. By Charle- 
magne Tower, Jr., 
LL.D. 


LL.D., in his two substantial volumes just issued by the Lippincotts and 
entitled The Marquis de La Fayette in the American Revolution. 

Starting with a sketch of the family, which sprang into notice in 


J 


868 


BOOKS OF THE MONTH. 


1000 A.D., the progenitors of the young marquis are traced down to his own 
times, following which is a brief life of La Fayette up to the period of his 
departure for America. From this point onward, in dignified prose and with 
searching inquiry and able analysis, Mr. Tower follows the course of the French 
general through his connection with the American Revolution. The warm 
relations with Washington are dwelt upon, and the traits of La Fayette in 
war and in council are fully brought out, often by means of scarce historic data, 
some of which Mr. Tower alone of recent historians has had access to. This is 
especially so of the important campaign of 1781, when La Fayette held an 
independent command and thus stands forth for untempered examination. 

The two volumes are sumptuously made, and contain plates of Madame 
de La Fayette, and of the Marquis from a portrait by C. W. Peale, together 
with ten maps, five of which are phototype fac-similes of the maps used by La 
Fayette himself, and five have been especially drawn for Mr. Tower for use in 

To achieve instant success in the initial effort, and to hold 
first place continuously for nine years, is not the usual 
experience of authors; but the record of the Practice of 
Pharmacy, the master-work of the leading pharmaceutical 
writer of the century, Professor Joseph P. Remington, has 
been phenomenal : wherever pharmacy is taught or prac- 
tised and the English language spoken, there will be found 
this hand-book. The student and tyro, the busy every-day 
worker, and the progressive pharmacist called to solve the 
difficulties besetting the paths of the pharmaceutical prac- 
tice of to-day will alike turn with confidence to its lucid 
paragraphs and clear expositions. 

The new book shows evidence of thorough revision to 
bring it into accord with the new United States Pharma- 
copoeia ; the adoption of the metric system has required the 
placing of the old-form equivalents of weights and measures opposite the metric 
terms, which has been effected so skilfully that both methods are distinctly shown, 
and either may be practised without the slightest confusion. All the impor- 
tant new remedies have been introduced, and a glossary of those which are un- 
official or unusual — a sudden call for which often harasses even the well-informed 
— has been added : an exhaustive eight-page table, showing the difference be- 
tween the metric and the old-form equivalents from one hundred pounds to 
the thousandth of a grain, is one of the new features. 

While one hundred and fifty pages of added new material and sixty pages 
of index give some idea of the extent of the revision, an examination of each 
page can alone indicate the care and labor bestowed upon this masterly expo- 
nent of pharmaceutical practice. 


this work only. 

Practice of Phar- 
macy : A Treatise 
on the Modes of 
Making and Dis- 
pensing Official, 
Unofficial, and Ex- 
temporaneous Prep- 
arations, with De- 
scriptions of their 
Properties, Uses, 
and Doses. By 
Professor Joseph P. 
Remington, Ph.M., 
F.C.S. Third Edi- 
tion, thoroughly 
revised. 8vo. 1448 
pages. 


Fairy Tales. By 
Hans Christian An- 
dersen. Illustrated 
by E. A. Lemann. 


Hans Andersen comes back each Christmas-tide as regu- 
larly as Santa Claus, and he is always quite as welcome. 
This year the “ Great Magician,” as he is well called, is for 
once and all adequately illustrated. Mr. E. A. Lemann 


has thrown his whole heart into the work, and has pro- 
duced a series of thirty-eight drawings for Messrs. Lippincotts’ new edition that 
will instruct as well as please. These adorn the fine large pages and help to 
illuminate the clear text. It is a good thing to have your conception of an ab- 


BOOKS OF THE MONTH. 


869 


stract creation eked out by a skilful pen-drawing, — especially if you are in your 
teens, — and it takes an artist of culture and sympathy to do it. This Mr. Le- 
mann undoubtedly is, and he has made The Little Mermaid, The Storks, The 
Nightingale, The Shadow, Little Totty, Little Klaus and Big Klaus, The Prince 
in Disguise, and the half-dozen other tales included in the volume, to enter 
the mind more vividly and to stay there more enduringly. 


Pen and Pencil 
Sketches. By Henry 
Stacy Marks, R.A. 
Illustrated. In two 
volumes. 


We all crave to know the intimate inner life of those little 
groups which spring up among artists in all parts of Bohe- 
mia. By their works ye shall — not fully — know them, 
for the public gets only the finished product of chisel, 
brush, or pen. The pleasant cameraderie of the creators, 
the fun of the remote land of three-pairs-back where 
they live, is for the elect alone. 

Hence is the charm of such a book as this of Pen and Pencil Sketches , by 
Henry Stacy Marks, R.A., just published in two elaborate volumes by the 
Messrs. Lippincott. Mr. Marks has moved among the dominant spirits of Eng- 
lish art and illustration for half a lifetime, and has known intimately the men 
of equal reputation who have carried forward the traditions of Sir Joshua 
and Gainsborough. He was the early sharer of a studio with George D. Leslie, 
and the daily companion of Calderon, of Charles Keene, Sir John Tenniel, 
Leech, and the rest of the Punch staff, and of Fred. Walker, the talented artist 
who died young, leaving a reputation which is to-day a source of national pride. 
Of all these and many more famous and interesting people Mr. Marks gossips 
genially and delightfully, devoting a chapter to Walker which gives much new 
matter concerning him and many valuable sketches from his pen. Mr. Marks 
is known to literature as “ Dry Point,” the art-critic of the Spectator of thirty 
years ago, and his style as a writer is as graceful and winning as his pictures, 
reproductions of which, with many others, are scattered liberally through the 
five hundred pages. 


When the mood grows fastidious and the tepid books of 
to-day fail of effect, we all turn for mental health and com- 
fort to the tonic tales of the masters, merry, genuine, wise, 
and sincere, who are a sure and perennial resource. None 
is more truly so than the immortal author of Tristram 
Shandy and A Sentimental Journey. He is a minister to the 
wounded in spirit, of good cheer; to the light-hearted, of matter for mirth. 
There is a sweet humor in his composition made of intermingled pathos and 
fun and human kindliness and expressed with the manner of a classic. 

That the Messrs. Lippincott have been wise enough to join with Messrs. J. M. 
Dent & Co., of London, in the publication of a complete edition of Laurence 
Sterne’s writing is matter for congratulation on the part of readers who know or 
seek the best in literature. But the six charming volumes which lie invitingly in 
a convenient box contain not only the text of all Sterne’s immortal writings, 
novels, letters, sermons ; they include, as well, a sympathetic introduction by the 
English critic Mr. George Saintsbury, and three illustrations to a volume, by 
E. J. Wheeler. The ornamental cover in satinet and the elegant typography 
complete a rarely good set of books which is foreordained as a Christmas- 
present to the old reader who loves his Sterne or to the young who knows not 
the entertainment in store for him. 


The Works of Lau- 
rence Sterne. Ed- 
ited by George 
Saintsbury. Six 
volumes. 


870 BOOKS OF THE MONTH . 

The taste in books grows simpler as the general taste grows 
deeper. We are content with a richer plainness of exterior, 
a finer circumspection of matter, as we advance in the 
knowledge of beauty and truth. It is patent that a volume 
such as this new edition of The Imitation of Christ, issued 
by the Lippincotts, with an introduction by Canon Farrar, 
and five archaic designs which would have done credit to 
an Elzevir, is a book of the new taste, simple, rich, and of lasting worth. It 
will be desired for its newly-designed type with rubricated capitals, its well- 
chosen paper, and its mechanical utilities. Yet all these are harmonized so 
skilfully as to produce an effect of beautiful completeness very winning to the 
book-lover. 

Of the Imitation itself it is difficult to speak, because the final word has 
long ago been said by saint and prelate as well as sinner and peasant. Canon 
Farrar gives us his clearly-defined views in an eloquent preface, and these are 
naturally valuable. But the text, after all, provides the final answer for itself ; 
and eyery wounded heart which goes to it for the balm of quiet consolation 
and finds there an ease and uplifting of the spirit must speak its own ultimate 
word upon the teaching of the saintly author. 

Every reader of books talks of Corinne, but few of the 
present generation have read it. It was a sensation of the 
day when it appeared in France early in the present 
century, and so potent was its effect that it helped to em- 
bitter Napoleon against its authoress and prolong her exile 
from her beloved Paris. 

In his pleasant introduction Mr. Saintsbury tells us 
that what was once so far-reaching in its influences, so representative of the 
contemporary thought and manners, can never wholly lose its interest, and 
when to this quality is added the intensity of the tale of passion which it un- 
folds, Corinne is seen to be a story that Messrs. Lippincott and Dent, of London, 
have done well to revive. The present edition, in two volumes, is richly bound, 
well boxed and illustrated, and will lend itself to the purposes of the Christmas 
season with peculiar aptness. Corinne undoubtedly shadows forth the life of 
Madame de Stael herself and that of many of her numerous suitors and friends. 
It will therefore have a conspicuous place in* the present revival of the literature 
surrounding the French Revolution. 


Corinne, or Italy. 
By Mme. de Stael. 
With an Introduc- 
tion by George 
Saintsbury. Two 
volumes. 


The Imitation of 
Christ. From the 
Latin of Thomas 
& Kempis. With an 
Introduction by the 
Venerable F. W. 
Farrar. 


Sketch-Book of 
Geoffrey Crayon, 
Gent. Illustrated. 
In two volumes. 


There is nothing that lives so long as sympathy and humor. 
Down through the remotest generations these twin streams 
have flowed, bringing us names that else were lost in the 
blackness of the past. We can to-day reach out a hand tp 
the genial ghost of Washington Irving and be sure of re- 
ceiving a welcome and a smile; and through all the ages to come he will be 
alive between the covers where lie his humor and his pathos. 

If one were asked to suggest the most appropriate book for Christmas in 
all the annals of English literature, he would possibly be divided in opinion 
between the Christmas Stories of Dickens and the Sketch-Book of Irving, with 
a strong inclination to linger over the latter as being the more human of the 
two. The whole volume sings a carol of good cheer, and when it can be had 


BOOKS OF THE MONTH. 


871 


with the appropriate illustrations of such artists as Parsons, William Hart, 
Hoppin, Darley, Bellows, Huntingdon, and Will, who, being of the same 
period as Irving, best interpret the life he depicts, there is no longer room for 
indecision. The edition now issued by the J. B. Lippincott Company, in two 
charming volumes, possesses these attractive features and more besides, which 
the reader will duly relish. * 


A Book of English 
Prose. Character 
and Incident. Se- 
lected by W. E. 
Henley and Charles 
Whibley. 


Anthologies of English poetry have been unusually rich 
and numerous ; but until the issue of the substantial and 
well-chosen volume of Messrs. W. E. Henley and Charles 
Whibley, just from the Lippincotts’ press, we do not re- 
member to have encountered a treasury of English prose. 
This is the more strange in that the prose of English 
writers from the days of Sir John Maundeville and Caxton 
and John Trevisa to the present time has been a continuous stream of sonorous, 
eloquent, and fluent composition of which all true Englishmen and Americans 
are justly proud. 

It is, however, a well-considered fact that the difficulties in making prose 
selections which shall have an organic unity are very great. Poems are conve- 
nient in size and condensed in thought ; while prose may constitute a volume as 
well as a brochure. Kecognizing this limitation, these collaborators have set out 
with the determination of conquering it, and, with the exercise of great skill, 
and a deep knowledge of the sources and possibilities of English prose, they 
have been vastly successful. They have formed a book in which each passage 
is complete in itself, each relates a single incident or unfolds a single character, 
and in which the often tedious prose of reflection and analysis is discounte- 
nanced for that of adventure and romance. The statement of all these excel- 
lences will convince holiday book-buyers that a better book for a developing 
boy or girl will be hard to find among the multitude of Yule-tide publications. 

The present volume contains passages from the great authors who flourished 
from the fourteenth to the seventeenth century. It is admirably printed and 
substantially bound, and thus fitted for home or school. 


“And Tom Cringle’s Log in Blackwood is also most excel- 
lent,” says Coleridge, in his bland after-dinner mood ; and 
so say we of a later generation, to whom the delightful old 
book has come down as a precious heirloom. For many a 
long day Tom Cringle puzzled the knowing ones of his age 
by the hearty stories of the sea which not even Christopher 
North himself could attribute to their rightful author. 
It was only at his death that Michael Scott stood revealed, and since that day 
his name has taken a fixed place in English fiction. 

Tom Cringle's Log and The Cruise of the Midge are now issued by the J. B. 
Lippincott Company in a form so compact and charming that there need be no 
further complaint of scarcity. They each appear in two octavo volumes, bound 
in dark blue, and aptly illustrated by Frank Brangwyn, of artistic note in 
England. The tales are rollicking, rambling narratives of the sea, carrying one 
to many remote quarters ; and mingled with the keen views of life on land and 
ocean is a running story which knits all together and will beguile the reader 
far away from workaday cares. As a holiday gift, these standard old tales will 
be found far more acceptable than an ephemeral “ book which is no book.” 


Tom Cringle’s Log. 
The Cruise of the 
Midge. By Michael 
Scott. Illustrated 
hy Frank Brang- 
wyn. 


872 


BOOKS OF THE MONTH. 


Henry of Navarre 
and the Religious 
Wars. By Edward 
T. Blair. 


From a residence of some years in the land of the French 
Pyrenees, which is touched everywhere with memories of 
Henry of Navarre, Mr. Edward T. Blair has drawn the 
substance of his thoughtful and admirable work on Henry 
of Navarre and the Religious Wars which has just issued 
from the Lippincott press. This is in all respects an able and picturesque ex- 
position of the man and the times, — times among the most stirring, romantic, 
and weighty with import in the history of France. It was at once the age of 
religious emancipation and of the decline of chivalry, and the two extremes 
meet in the half-feudal, half-modern characters which crowd the stage of events. 
In poetry and song as well as in narrative, drama, and picture, King Henry of 
Navarre has been one of the favorite figures. But his intimate personal life 
and the surrounding episodes of his brilliant career have never been dealt with 
more fully and more impartially than in these pages. It has been the aim 
of Mr. Blair to present a faithful picture of characters and events which have 
hitherto been much distorted by partisan writers ; and he has gone about his 
chosen task with the skill of an historian and a biographer who thoroughly 
knows the sources where his true materials lie, the country in which the history 
has unfolded itself, the descendants of the actors in the historic drama which 
he records, and the bearing of the events on contemporary and later history. 
This has furnished forth the substance for a biographical history which will 
make a strong appeal to many classes of readers, — the young, always interested 
in the prowess and daring of Henry of Navarre, the religious, alert for the 
newest versions of many vexed questions, and the general reader, who will find 
the book interesting purely from its subject and its treatment. 

The illustrations, provided by the accomplished author himself from his 
own large store of historic matter, form a group of several scores which is 
unique in this connection and will be particularly relished by the lover of 
prints. As a book for extra illustration, this, with the ample basis thus afforded, 
would prove of rare interest. 

The volume is a royal octavo of over three hundred pages, bound with 
great elegance in blue and gold ; and in letter-press, in paper, and in every 
mechanical feature it is unsurpassed among recent histories. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


873 


ROYAL BAKING 
POWDER 

is indispensable for pure and 
wholesome food. 

The best and most wholesome elements of all flour 
foods are destroyed by the fermentative action of yeast. 
It is now an accepted fact that yeast leaves in bread 
qualities of itself that are detrimental to the digestive 
organs. 

The ROYAL BAKING POWDER perfectly vesi- 
culates the dough by mechanical means without fermen- 
tation, and in no way affects or changes the constituents 
of the flour. There is no destruction of the gluten or 
sugar, but all those elements are preserved which were 
intended by nature, when combined in our bread, to 
make it literally the staff of life. 

Fresh bread, cake, biscuits, griddle-cakes, etc., 
raised with ROYAL BAKING POWDER, may be 
eaten when hot with impunity by persons of dyspeptic 
tendencies or most sensitive stomachs. 

FOOD FOR THE SICK, requiring to be leav- 
ened, is made more wholesome and nutritious by the 
ROYAL BAKING POWDER than by any other 
vesiculating agent. 

Health Officers and Boards of Health 
recommend the use of Royal Baking 
Powder exclusively. 


ROYAL BAKING POWDER CO., 106 WALL STREET. NEW-YORK. 


874 


CURRENT NOTES. 


Interesting to Single Women. — Mile. Lenormand has taken it into her 
head to figure out what chances a young lady has of getting married at various 
periods of her existence. From her investigations it appears that out of one 
thousand women the marriages are as follows : 

101 between the ages of 16 and 17 years. 

209 between the ages of 18 and 19 years. 

232 between the ages of 20 and 21 years. 

165 between the ages of 22 and 23 years. 

102 between the ages of 24 and 25 years. 

60 between the ages of 26 and 27 years. 

45 between the ages of 28 and 29 years. 

18 between the ages of 30 and 31 years. 

14 between the ages of 32 and 33 years. 

8 between the ages of 34 and 35 years. 

2 between the ages of 36 and 37 years. 

1 between the ages of 38 and 39 years. 

So that a young lady of thirty has only eighteen chances out of one thou- 
sand of getting married. After forty the probability of meeting with a husband 
is represented by a very small fraction. It is a question of dowry. — Diluvio. 

The Serpent Talked like a Man. — In John Ashton’s “ Curious 
Creatures of Zoology” there is a quotation from “a little Latine booke, printed 
at Vienna in the yeare 1551,” which tells a most wonderful story. Ashton 
quotes as follows : “ There was found in a mowe or rycke of corn almost as 
many snakes, adders, and other serpentes as there was sheafes, so as no one 
sheaf could be removed but there presently appeared a heape of ougly and 
fierce serpentes. The countrie men determyned to set fire upon the barne, and 
so attempted to do, but in vaine, for the straw would take no fire, although they 
laboured with all their witts and policye to burn them up. 

“ At last there appeared unto them at the top of the heap a huge great ser- 
pente, which lifted up his head and spake with a man’s voyce to- the countrie men, 
saying, ‘ Cease to prosecute your devise, for you shall not be able to accomplish 
our burning, for wee were not bredde by nature, neither came we here of our 
owne accord, but were sent by God to take vengence on the sinnes of men.’ ” 

Ashton leaves us in the dark as to what the “ countrie” men did, but it is 
natural to suppose that they surrendered at once. — St. Louis Republic. 

The Imp Hoax. — This brazen imposture on the credulity of the English 
public was the result of a wager between the Duke of Montague and another 
nobleman in 1749. In discussing the amazing gullibility of the English people, 
the former declared that if one were to advertise it well that he would jump 
into a quart bottle, all London would go to see him do it. The wager being 
made, an advertisement was inserted in all the leading papers, promising that 
the feat would be performed on a certain date at the Haymarket Theatre. On 
the appointed day the theatre was packed from pit to dome, and many hundreds 
were turned from the doors. The supposed magician appeared on the stage and 
had the temerity to state that if the audience would pay double the price he 
would enter a pint bottle, shown on the stage table, instead of the quart flask 
as furnished. He then hurriedly escaped by the stage door. A riot resulted, in 
which the theatre was badly wrecked, and the duke and his companion had to 
leave town until the excitement was well over . — Baltimore American. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


875 



pOR BODY AND BRAIN when overworked 


TONIC-STIMULANT 

used in Hospitals. 
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where. 



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Ask for Vin Mariani at Druggists and Fancy Grocers. 

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mending “ Vin Mariani.” 


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876 


CURRENT NOTES. 


Seasonable Crops. — Ranger. — “ How did your crops turn out last year ?” 

Granger. — “Poorly. We had nearly two months of continuous rain. 
What do you suppose we would be likely to raise under such conditions ?” 

Ranger. — “ Umbrellas.” — Yonkers Gazette. 

Useful Burglars. — A sea life does not seem to offer an encouraging field 
of operation for an enterprising burglar, but a well-known naval officer relates 
an anecdote of how a considerable number of this shady profession once went 
to sea. His is a reminiscence of the Virginius affair, when a war with Spain 
was looked upon as certain. The navy, the chief bulwark of defence, was found 
to be hampered by a deficiency of men, and almost every one who applied for 
enlistment was accepted. One result of this is told by the officer, who was then 
attached to the steam frigate Wabash. 

One day the paymaster of the vessel forgot the combination of a new safe 
which had been placed on board ship, and was at a loss what to do about it. 
The safe contained important documents which had been called for by the cap- 
tain, and it was necessary that it be opened without delay. The machinists 
were sent for, and, after working unsuccessfully at the combination, gave it up 
as a job beyond their abilities. The paymaster came on deck and mentioned 
his dilemma to the officer of the watch. 

“ Oh, I can fix that for you,” said the officer, confidently. “ Boatswain’s 
mate, pass the word for all the burglars in the ship to report to the paymaster.” 

In obedience to the command, a score of men sought that official, and in a 
few minutes picked the lock and the safe was open. — London Tit-Bits. 

Laconic. — The man who insists upon conversation whether you will or no 
was on the train with me between Detroit and Chicago. This time, as is often 
the case, he was one of those dear fellows, the commercial travellers. I was 
reading when he took a seat opposite and began to talk : 

“Travelling?” 

“ Yes.” 

“What line?” 

“Paper.” 

“Wall?” 

I gave up. As an example of the laconic in conversation it reminded me 
of a story told me once by Max O’Rell. It was of a Scotsman stopping before 
a shop door in a Scotch village. He took a bit of cloth in his hand. 

“ ’Oo’ ?” he asked. 

“ Ay, ’oo’,” said the shopkeeper. 

“ A’ W?” 

“Ay, a’ W.” 

“A’ ae W?” 

“ Ay, a’ ae W.” 

Which, being interpreted, would be recorded in ordinary English : 

“ Wool?” 

“Yes, wool.” 

“All wool?” 

“ Yes, all wool.” 

“ All the same wool ?” 

“Yes, all the same wool.” — M oses P. Handy, in Chicago Inter-Ocean. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


877 



are constructed from 
the musician’s stand- 
point, as well as that 
of the mechanic; hence 
these instruments are 
distinguished from all 
others by that pure and sympathetic qual- 
ity of tone that contains the greatest 
musical possibilities; that consummation 


THE MOST DELICATE and 
IMPRESSIVE EFFECTS, 

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superiority that enhan- 
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performer and listener. 
Constructed from the 
very best materials, and 
employing only the most 
skillful workmanship, these instruments 
combine the highest achievements in the 
art of Piano making, and are 


Comprehensively THE BEST now Manufactured. 




878 


CURRENT NOTES. 


A Bad Payer. — “Did you call on Mr. Putemoff?” asked the merchant of 
the man who had been out collecting. 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ Did he pay anything?” 

“Not a thing. I couldn’t even get him to pay attention .” — Washington 

Star. 


Flying to their Death. — During a storm a light-house will often be 
surrounded by myriads of birds of many species. Having been so unfortunate 
as to start off in their migration on a falling barometer, they have got lost and 
flocked to the light, fluttering about the lantern and dashing upon it or against 
the tower. One light-keeper, describing such a phenomenon, recently said that, 
as far as he could see by the beam of the light, the air appeared to be a “ solid 
mass of birds.” 

Waterfowl are_destroyed in considerable numbers by fish-fykes, — a kind of 
net which leads the fishes into a cul-de-sac from which there is no escape. The 
birds follow the fishes, and, becoming entangled, are drowned. 

In the great lakes deep nets are set for white-fish two hundred feet beneath 
the surface of the water. Ducks are frequently caught in them, showing how 
deeply they dive in pursuit of finny prey. 

On the shores of some alkaline lakes of the West, notably Owens Lake in 
California, great quantities of grebes, which are about the size of big pigeons, 
are sometimes found dead. As many as thirty-five thousand have been counted 
at Owens Lake, which is not a very large sheet. This phenomenon occurs 
every year. Either the water is injurious to them, or, as seems more likely, 
they come to the lake to catch fish, and, finding none, die of starvation. 

On the Pacific coast, not far from San Francisco, is a stretch of beach on 
which, after a storm, great numbers of ducks and divers and even many alba- 
trosses may be picked up, as well as petrels, cormorants, and other birds. Some 
of them, as the petrels, flying low, are struck by big waves and thrown upon 
the shore. Others, like the cormorants and surf ducks, are dashed upon the 
beach while swimming near shore. Elsewhere along that part of the coast 
there are only rocks, and the waterfowl dashed upon them are not stranded, but 
float off again, to land eventually on the strip of beach above mentioned. 

Vessels coasting off shore from tdn to one hundred miles are often visited 
by birds which have been swept off the lands by winds. If at a great distance 
from the land, they invariably' die from exhaustion after reaching the ships. 
Sometimes hundreds are seen to fall dying into the water within a few minutes, 
being unable to sustain flight any longer. In fact, the ocean annually proves a 
burial-place for vast numbers of feathered creatures. 

Likewise immense numbers are lost in the great lakes, being blown off 
shore by winds or becoming exhausted in trying to cross these sheets of water. 
In September, 1879, there was a great storm in the lake region, which lasted 
twenty-four hours. After it the east shore of Lake Michigan was strewn with 
dead birds, the number of which was estimated at upward of a million. — 
Washington Star. 

Gargling. — A little girl was trying to tell her mother how beautifully a 
certain lady could trill in singing, and said, “ Oh, mamma ! you ought to hear 
her gargle! She does it so sweetly .” — Texas Siftings. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


879 



young hou^e=maid 
Was sore afraid $ 

That her mistress would let her |o. 
Tho hard she worked, $ 

And never shirked, | 

At cleaning she was s-l-o-w. | 
Now, all is bright. 

Her heart is light, o .. ft 
For she's found OcIpOllO. 

cS?> C%D C ^zPCeSOC^OC^OCSiOC^O 


For many years SAPOLIO has stood as 
the finest and best article of this kind in the 
world. It knows no equal, and, although it 
costs a trifle more, its durability makes it out- 
last two cakes of cheap makes. It is there- 
fore the cheapest in the end.' Any grocer 
will supply it at a reasonable price. 


TAKE NO SUBSTITUTES. 


ENOCH MORGAN’S SONS CO. 



880 


CURRENT NOTES. 


Costly Burial. — The majority of intelligent persons are more or less 
indifferent as to the disposal of their bodies after death, but it may be safely 
asserted that not one would be found to express a wish that his or her body 
should be carefully preserved in a polished oak or elm brass-mounted coffin and 
in a walled grave or vault. It is the result partly of tyrannical custom and 
partly of leaving all to the undertaker. The latter has been shorn of much of 
his former profits derived from the sale of scarfs and hat-bands and the hire of 
palls, plumes, feathers, and other trappings of woe. The polished coffin and the 
brass furniture are the surviving relics of the “ funerals completely furnished” 
of the past age, and are clung to with affectionate tenacity by those whose 
interest it is to have them continued. 

But the undertaker is, after all, what the public make him. The courage 
and persistence of a few individuals swept away the costly and useless trap- 
pings of woe ; only a very little more courage is required to substitute cheaper 
and perishable coffins for the pretentious upholstery exhibited in the coffin of 
the day. If the upper classes would set the example and make perishable 
coffins fashionable, it would soon spread to the working classes, who are still 
tempted to spend upon a coffin and a burial money which would be much more 
wisely expended in providing additional comforts and even necessaries for the 
living . — London Lancet. 

Came Home to Roost. — A student who secretly dropped a piece of paper, 
on which the word “ Monkey” was written in large letters, in the cap of a pro- 
fessor against whom he had a spite, told the joke to all his classmates. The 
next day the professor said to the class, in bland and polite tones, “ Gentlemen, 
I have to thank one of your number for the courtesy of dropping his card in 
my cap yesterday.” That student was called Monkey ever after . — New York 
Ledger. 

Old English Cookery. — Down to the sixteenth century the extraordi- 
nary mixtures, both as to ingredients and seasonings, which prevailed, gave an 
indication of the tastes of the period. Thus, blanc-mange, or, as it is generally 
spelled, blanc-manger, instead of being merely a jelly of milk or cream, was 
formerly composed of the pounded flesh of poultry, boiled with rice and milk 
of almonds, and sweetened with sugar, while a mixture of the same kind, but 
colored with blood or sandal-wood, was called a rose. Buckuade was the name 
of another typical preparation, and this was made of meat “ hewn in gobbets,” 
pounded almonds, raisins, sugar, cinnamon, cloves, ginger, onions, salt, and 
fried herbs, thickened with rice flour and colored yellow with saffron. 

Mortrews, a dish mentioned by Chaucer in his “ Canterbury Tales,” was 
held in great esteem. It derived its name from the mortar in which the meat 
used in making it was pounded, and as the recipe is a representative one we 
will here give it as it stands in the “ Forme of Cury :” 

“Take hennes and pork and sethe horn togydre. Take the lyre (flesh) of 
the hennes and of the porke and hack it small and grinde it all to dust. Take 
bread gyrated, and do (add) thereto, and temper it with the self broth — that is, 
the broth in which it was boiled, and alye (mix) it with zelkes of ayern (yolks 
of eggs), and cast thereon fpowder fort (pepper) and boil it, and do thereto 
powder of gynger, saffron and salt, and loke that it is stonding (stiff), and flour 
it all with powder of gynger .” — Quarterly Review. 


CURRENT NOTES. 881 


i 





S Springs Nos. I and 2— Nature’s Nerve Tonic and Restorative — $ 
S It’s Value In the Lithsemic or Gout State. { 

Jam «s L. CabeII,M.D.,A.IVI. LL.D 

Professor of Physiology and Surgery 


in the Medical Department of the Uni- 
versity of Virginia and President of 
the National Board of Healthy refer- 
ring to Spring No. 2: 

“I have recently read with interest, a 
paper in the ‘New York Medical Journal 1 
on the 

Buffalo lithia Water 

in Diseases of the Nervous System, in 
which the writer, Dr. Boyland, citing his 
own observations and those of other emi- 
nent physicians, ascribes to this Water a 
special virtue as a direct Tonic for the 
Nervous System in cases of Cerebral 
Exhaustion. I have only had occasion 
to test its effects in this direction in cases 
in which the Nervous Symptoms may 
have been due to a lithsemic con- 
dition, for which it is a well-known 
therapeutic resource. (Lithsemic 
is defined to be an excess of Uric Acid in 
the blood — a condition nearly allied, to 
Gout.) In these cases the relief following 
the use of the remedy was very decided,. 


Dr. William A. Hammond, 

Washington, D. C., Surgeon-General 
U. S. Army (retired), formerly Pro- 
fessor of Diseases of the Mind and Ner- 
vous System in the University of New 
York y etc., referring to Spring No. 2: 

"It is well known that many cases of 
diseases of the Nervous System are com- 
plicated with Lithsemia, and that unless 
this condition is removed, a cure is very 
often retarded and not infrequently en- 
tirely prevented. It is quite commonly 
the case that in Cerebral Congestion pro- 
ducing Insomnia, Nervous Prostration, 
resulting from over mental work or much 
emotional disturbance, and in Epilepsy 
(to say nothing of many cases of insanity), 


an excess of uric acid in the blood is often 
observed. This state appears to be 
altogether independent of the char- 
acter of the food, for no matter 
how careful the physician may be 
in regard to the diet of the patient, 
the lithsemic condition continues. 
I have tried to overcome this persistence 
by the use of phosphate of ammonia and 
other so-called solvents for uric acid, but 
without notable effect. Several years ago, 
however, I began to treat such cases with 

BUFFALO LITHIA WATER 

with a result that was as astonish- 
ing to me as it was beuclicial to 
the patient.” 


Dr. John Herbert Claiborne, 

of Petersburg , Fa., ex-President and 
Honorary Fellow Medical Society of 
Va.y referring to Spring No. 1: 

“ The peculiar nerve tonic prop- 
erties of the 

BUFFALO LITHIA WATER 

Spring No. 1, give to it very remarkable 
recuperative power in cases of persons 
broken down by overwork or excess, or 
by tardy and imperfect convalescence.” 


Spring 


Wm. O. Baskerville, 

Oxford, N. C., referring to 
No. 1, writes: 

Buffalo lithia Water 

Spring No. 1 is a powerful tonic to the 
Nervous System as well as to the blood. 
I have known it to produce magical 
effects in Nervous Prostration, re- 
sulting from overwork, prolonged mental 
strain, etc., and convalescents from adyna- 
mic diseases have been restored to health 
in a surprisingly short time, the water 
being a direct blood producer, a valuable 
heart tonic and a physiological diuretic.” 


Bu ffalo Lithia Water I 

Jyb 1 is for sale by druggists generally, or in cases of one dozen half-gallon bottles $5.00 W(u 
f.o.b. at the Springs. Descriptive pamphlets sent to any address. Springs now open, jj— 

THOMAS F. GOODE, Proprietor, Buffalo Lithia Springs, Va. g 




Vol. LIV. — 56 



882 


CURRENT NOTES. 


A Marvel of Strength. — The famous Maurice, Mar6chal de Saxe, who 
commanded the French at Fontenoy, was a marvel of strength. On one occa- 
sion he twisted, with his fingers only, a long nail into a corkscrew, with which 
he drew the corks of half a dozen bottles. He could break with his hands the 
strongest horseshoe. 

One day when in London he had a row with a dustman, when he seized the 
man by the head, and, throwing him in the air, let him drop right in the middle 
of his own dust-cart. The only opponent who succeeded in resisting him was 
a woman, a Mile. Gauthier, an actress. Maurice tried with her to see wno 
could put down the other’s wrist, and after a long struggle she won, but with 
the greatest difficulty. 

The power of Mile. Gauthier’s arm was far beyond the common, and with 
her fingers she could roll up silver plates as easily as any one would paper.— 

Cincinnati Commercial Gazette. 

Four Styles. 

The Vulgate. — A lady slipped on a banana skin on School Street yesterday 
afternoon and broke a leg. 

The Staccato Style.— It is a job for the surgeon. 

A banana skin did it. 

There was a slide, a scream, and a dull thud. 

The atmosphere was full of lingerie, frou-frou, hair-pins, and bric-a-brac. 

It was laughable. 

But only to a few. 

A dozen men gallantly rushed to the rescue. 

It was a woman who had fallen. 

Horror ! 

A nether limb was broken. 

She was in agony. 

And all because of somebody’s carelessness. 

Saul has slain his thousands. 

The banana skin has slain its ten thousands. 

The Florid Style. — Tripping lightly down School Street yesterday afternoon, 
her face all aglow with health and her every muscle, nerve, vein, and artery in 
harmony with the invigorating autumnal atmosphere, a representative of the 
softer sex was seen suddenly to deflect from the perpendicular, and in another 
instant this one of God’s last and best gifts to man came with crushing force to 
the hard and unyielding pavement. The immediate cause of the unfortunate 
lady’s downfall was the greasy envelope of that now tropical fruit, the banana, 
which some thoughtless, if not malicious, individual had cast upon the public 
sidewalk. The victim of this carelessness, or worse, had sustained a fracture of 
a limb, and it will be many weary weeks ere she will again be able to walk erect 
and stately as heretofore. 

The Facetious Style. — She will be careful how she treads on banana skins 
hereafter. She didn’t know it was loaded, but it fired her. It is only a broken 
leg ; not much comfort to her, but a good thing for the surgeon. There’s money 
in it. People who throw away banana skins should be careful to so throw them 
that they will land with the slippery side down, unless they are in league with 
the bone-setting profession. In that case, of course, it is different. — Boston 
Transcript. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


883 





yo/eso/r/e cooA< 


Clevelands Baking Powder 



Our cook book mailed free on receipt of stamp and address. 
CeEveeand Baking Powder Co., 8i and 83 Fulton St., New York. 


884 


CURRENT NOTES. 


Throwing an Old Shoe. — The throwing of an old shoe after a newly- 
married couple on their departure is general all over the country. In Kent the 
custom is accompanied by a little more detail than is usually observed in other 
parts of the country. The principal bridesmaid throws the shoe; the other 
bridesmaids run after it, the belief being that the one who gets it will be the 
first to be married. She then throws the shoe among the gentlemen, and it is 
supposed that the one who is hit will also be married before the others. 

The custom of showering rice over the bride and bridegroom is a universal 
one, although in some parts wheat is substituted. This was formerly general 
in Nottinghamshire and Sussex. The practice appears to find a parallel in 
Poland, where, after the nuptial benediction has been given by the priest, the 
father receives the newly-married couple at the door of their house and strews 
some barleycorns over their heads. These corns are carefully gathered up and 
sown. If they grow, it is considered an omen that the married pair will enjoy 
a life of happiness. Grain of any sort is symbolical of plenty, and no doubt at 
different periods and in different countries that grain has been selected which 
could be procured the most easily. An old Spanish ballad of the sixteenth 
century, “ The Cid’s Wedding,” refers to this custom, except that ears of wheat 
appear to have been used instead of thrashed wheat: 

All down the street the ears of wheat are round Xiinena flying. 

Westminster Review. 


Served God and Man. — The late Bishop Selwyn of New Zealand and 
Melanesia was well known during his university days as a devotee of the noble 
art of self-defence. He incurred a great deal of animosity from a certain section 
in New Zealand, owing to his sympathy with the Maoris during the war. One 
day he was asked by a rough in one of the back-streets of Auckland if he was 
“ the bishop who backed up the Maoris.” Receiving a reply in the affirmative, 
the rough, with a “Take that, then,” struck his lordship in the face. 

“ My friend,” said the bishop, “ my Bible tells me, If a man smite thee on 
one cheek, turn to him the other.” And he turned his head slightly the other 
way. His assailant, slightly bewildered, and wondering what was coming next, 
struck him again. “ Now,” said his lordship, “ having done my duty to God, I 
will do my duty to man.” And, taking off his coat and hat, he gave the anti- 
Maori champion a most scientific thrashing . — Home Journal. 

First Celtic Sermon in America.— The first sermon preached in the 
Irish language in the United States was delivered on Thursday, March 17, 1881, 
when Rev. Hugh Mageveney preached the panegyric of St. Patrick at a mass 
celebrated by Canon McGee, of Belfast, in St. Patrick’s Church, Baltimore. 
At the mass it was announced that in the afternoon Canon McGee would preach 
a panegyric in Irish. Natives of Ireland whose age or physical disabilities 
prevented them attending the church services on other occasions were led to 
the church to hear their first sermon in Irish since they left the old sod. It 
was an impressive scene. Canon McGee warmed up to his subject, preaching 
with fervor and faith, using pure Celtic, which, with his oratorical power, 
carried his hearers back to the land of St. Patrick. Many honest Irish blessings 
were called down upon Canon McGee. He had preached the first sermon in 
Irish on St. Patrick’s day in the United States .— Baltimore Sun. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


885 


Mellin’s Food 
Children 

everywhere are the best adver- 
tisement of Mellins Food : with 
their sound bodies, straight limbs, 
bright eyes, plump cheeks and 
fresh, radiant faces, they are the 
highest types of happy, healthy 
childhood, and the best evidence 
that Mellins Food fulfills every 
requisite of a food for Infants. 

Our book for the instruction of mothers sent free on application. 

DOLIBER-GOODALE CO., 
BOSTON, MASS. 


886 


CURRENT NOTES. 


On a Big Railroad. — “ Do you use the block system on this road ?” in- 
quired a passenger on a train in Kentucky. 

“ No, sir,” replied the conductor : “ we have no use for it.” 

“ Do you use the electric or pneumatic signals?” 

“ No, sir.” 

“ Have you a double track?” 

“ No.” 

“ Well, of course you have a train despatcher, and run all trains by tele- 
graph ?” 

“ No.” 

“ I see you have no brakeman. How do you flag the rear of your train, if 
you are stopped from any cause between stations?” • 

“ We don’t flag.” 

“ Indeed ! What a way to run a railroad ! A man takes his life in his- 
hand when he rides on it This is criminally reckless !” 

“ See here, mister ! If you don’t like this railroad you can get off and walk. 
I am the president of this road and its sole owner. I am also the board of di- 
rectors, treasurer, secretary, general manager, superintendent, paymaster, track- 
master, general passenger agent, general freight agent, master mechanic, ticket 
agent, conductor, brakeman, and boss. This is the Great Western Railroad of 
Kentucky, six miles long, with termini at Harrodsburg and Harrodsburg Junc- 
tion. This is the only train on the road of any kind, and ahead of us is the 
only engine. We never have collisions. The engineer does his own firing and 
runs the repair-shop and round house all by himself. He and I run this here 
railway. It keeps us pretty busy, but we’ve always got time to stop and eject a 
sassy passenger. So you want to behave yourself and go through with us, or 
you will have your baggage set off here by the haystack !” — Rough Notes. 

Science has often come to the aid of medicine in curing disease, but one 
of the most interesting instances of its help has only recently been brought to 
light. The process is the simple application of a natural force, and its effective- 
ness is fully sustained by its fruits, which have been so satisfactory as to compel 
the belief of some of its most sceptical observers. Electricity has been applied 
in the effort to cure disease with varying results, but many physicians in dis- 
continuing its use have prophesied that it would be used again when better 
understood. The hidden law of its application which they lacked has appar- 
ently been discovered, for instead of shocking the patient this method polarizes 
the entire body by the use of a little instrument called an “ Electropoise.” 
When the body is in this condition it has been found to absorb oxygen from 
the air in such quantities as is required by the system to gain the vitality neces- 
sary to throw off disease. Even stubborn cases of chronic troubles have yielded 
to the treatment. The principle of this useful discovery is not generally under- 
stood, but its undoubted cures are commanding the attention of the entire 
medical world. A company has been formed and it is being widely advertised. 

Suspecting the Parson. — A workingman was being united to the lady 
of his choice at a certain church, and just before the moment for the produc- 
tion of the ring arrived the officiating clergyman leaned over toward the bride 
and whispered, “ Please take off your glove.” To his intense dismay, the bride- 
groom resented the action, and cried, “ Here, mister, no whisperin’ to my gal." 
— London Figaro. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


887 





Cottolene is clean, delicate, 
wholesome, appetizing, and eco- 
nomical. It is so good that it is tak- 
ing the place of all other shorten- 
ings. Be sure and get the genuine 

(§ttelene 

with trade-mark — steer’s head in 
cotton-plant wreath — on every pail. 
Sold everywhere, in 3 and 5 lb. 
pails. Made only by 

The N. K. Fairbank Company, 

St. Louis, Chicago, New York, Boston, 
Philadelphia. 






388 CURRENT NOTES. 

Good News — Wonderful Cures of Catarrh and Consumption. — 
Our readers who suffer from Lung-Diseases, Catarrh, Bronchitis, and Consump- 
tion will be glad to hear of the wonderful cures made by the new treatment, 
known in Europe as the Andral-Broca Discovery. Write to the New Medical 
Advance, 67 East Sixth Street, Cincinnati, Ohio, and they will send you this 
new treatment free for trial. State age and all particulars of your disease. 

Wonderful Salt Plains. — Mr. C. E. Biddulph, in his “ Travels in 
Persia and Transcaspia,” gives a curious account of the great salt plains in the 
neighborhood of the Black Mountains. He says, — 

“ I obtained from thence one of the most peculiar sights it has ever been 
my fortune to look on, and that was an immense sea of what looked like ice, 
but which was really salt deposit, which entirely filled the hollow in the plains 
toward the south and stretched away as far as the eye could reach on either 
side, glittering in the sun like a sheet of glass. I sat for hours looking at this 
strange spectacle through my field-glasses, and listening to the tales of my 
guides regarding the peculiarities of its composition and the dangers to be 
encountered in traversing it. 

“ According to their account, this vast deposit of salt was of the consistency 
of ice, and, like the latter, formed a coat of varying degrees of thickness upon 
the surface of the water which was underneath it, so that in places where the 
coat attained a thickness of several feet, as was the case in many parts, laden 
mules and camels could cross this plain with perfect safety, while in others, 
where this is not the case, this crust of coagulated salt would break beneath 
their weight, and they would be engulfed in the morass *beneath.” 

How Hopkins was Soothed. — A Portland physician tells the following 
story, premising it with the remark that nurses in the London hospitals are 
rather apt to lay too much stress on the advantages received by the patients and 
to remind them of the duty of thankfulness. Sometimes the patients do not 
appreciate their good fortune. This scene from a London hospital, related by 
the physician above indicated, is a case in point: 

Chaplain. — “So poor Hopkins is dead! I should have liked to speak to 
him once again and soothe his last moments. Why didn’t you call me?” 

Hospital Orderly. — “ I didn’t think you ought to be disturbed for ’Opkins, 
sir, so I just soothed him as best I could myself.” 

Chaplain. — “ Why, what did you say to him ?” 

Orderly. — “ * ’Opkins,’ sez I, * you’re mortal bad.’ 

“ ‘ I am,’ sez ’e. 

“ ‘ ’Opkins,’ sez I, ‘ I don’t think you’ll get better.’ 

“‘No,’ sez ’e. 

“ ‘ ’Opkins,’ sez I, ‘ you’re goin’ fast.’ 

“‘Yes,’ sez ’e. 

“ ‘ ’Opkins,’ sez I, ‘ I don’t think you can ’ope to go to ’eaven.’ 

“ ‘ I don’t think I can,’ sez ’e. 

“ ‘ Well, then, ’Opkins,’ sez I, ‘ you will go to ’ell.’ 

“ ‘ I suppose so,’ sez ’e. 

‘“’Opkins,’ sez I, ‘you ought to be wery grateful as there’s a place per- 
wided for you, and that you’ve got somewhere to go.’ And I think ’e ’eard 
me, sir, and then ’e died . — Portland Eastern Argus. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


889 


The Uses of Cod=liver Oil 

are devoted in a large measure to all those ailments which are indicated 
by 'impoverished or diseased blood, with the consequent wasting of tissue 
and strength. The germs of disease, like the germs of Scrofula and 
Consumption, are overcome through the blood by the same properties 
in Cod-liver Oil that cure Anaemia, which is impoverished blood. Cod- 
liver Oil is a food that makes the blood rich and free from disease. 

The Problem, 

however, is how to feed the blood with the properties of Cod-liver Oil 
without taxing the digestive organs, and without nausea. The solution 
of this problem is Scott’s Emulsion. No other form of Cod-liver 
Oil is so effective. The only way to insure a prompt assimilation of 
Cod-liver Oil is to take it in the form of an emulsion, — but there are 
emulsions and emulsions. Scott’s Emulsion has only one standard — 
the highest. It contains only the first grade of Norway oil, and an expe- 
rience of twenty years has made it a perfect emulsion. The oil is evenly 
and minutely divided, its taste. is completely disguised, and it is not only 
easy on the stomach but it actually aids digestion and stimulates the 
appetite. Any physician will tell you why this is so. Told in a few 
words, the reason is that Scott’s Emulsion supplies principles of food 
the stomach ought to have in order to digest other foods properly. 


A Testimonial. 

N. Y. Practical Aid Society, 

327 West 36th St. 

Messrs. SCOTT & BOWNE. New York, Oct. 16, 1894. 

Gentlemen : — I desire to express my sincere thanks to you for what Scott’s Emul- 
sion has done for many that have applied to this Society for aid. One year ago a 
woman who had been sick for nineteen months with Rheumatism, and was almost 
helpless, came to us for aid. I gave her a bottle of Scott’s Emulsion. She began to 
improve. She took in all five bottles, and to-day is a perfectly well woman, weighs 
198 pounds, and has been cooking since last May (for she is a cook). I have a young 
lady in one of the large dry-goods stores to-day that could not work without Scott’s 
Emulsion. She was given up with consumption. These are only two of many cases. 
You can refer to me any time. I am using it all the time, and would not be without 
it. Babies grow fat, fair, and beautiful with its use, and mothers grow strong and 
healthy while nursing if they will use it. More than this is true of your invaluable 
remedy. I wish the whole world knew this as well as I do. 

Very respectfully yours, Mrs. L. A. Goodwin, Supt. 

Scott’s Emulsion cannot be duplicated by a druggist. Don’t 
take substitutes. Get the best— Scott’s Emulsion— and get the best 
results. Send for pamphlet. Free. 

Scott & Bowne, New-York City. All Druggists. 50 cents and $1. 


890 


CURRENT NOTES. 


He won the Case. — In the. early days of interior Missouri the late Judge 

E cut cord-wood, cleared up his homestead farm, and was employed upon 

one side of nearly every case that came up, being for some years k the only 
lawyer in the county. 

He had no books except an old leather- covered Bible and an old volume or 
two of history similarly bound, but had read law a short time in Kentucky 
in his youth. He was very small and insignificant in appearance, but became 
before his death a splendid lawyer and an honored judge. 

A young attorney from the East settled in the little country town, with his 
library of about half a dozen new and handsomely bound law-books., and on his 
first appearance in a case he brought most of his library to the justice’s office 

in a fine, beautifully flowered carpet-bag, popular in that day. E was 

engaged against him, and, as usual, had not a book. 

When his adversary carefully drew his books from his pretty carpet-bag 

and laid them on the table, E looked astonished, but quickly recovered his 

ready resources and asked the justice to excuse him for a few moments. He 
hurried to his homestead, half a mile or so away, and put his old leather-bound 
Bible and histories into a grain-sack and brought them to court, imitating his 
opponent in laying them before him on the table. 

The evidence was introduced, and the Eastern man, being for the plaintiff, 

made his opening argument and read at length from his text-books. E 

made his characteristic speech in reply, closing by reading law from his old 
Bible just the reverse of that read by his opponent, and took his seat, putting 
his Bible on the table. 

His adversary reached over and picked it up, and, seeing what it was, 
eagerly addressed the justice. 

“ Your honor,” said he, “ this man is a humbug and a pettifogger. Why, 
sir, this is the Bible from which he has pretended to read law.” 

The old justice looked indignant, and, interrupting the young attorney, 
said, — 

“Set down, durn ye. What better law can we git than the Bible?” He 
then decided the case in favor of the defendant . — Green Bag. 

A Mirthful Martyr. — Hans Muller, a private in the Pomeranian grena- 
diers, on being sentenced to a flogging, went down into the barrack-yard to 
undergo his punishment. The officer appointed to superintend the proceedings 
was rather surprised at the man’s demeanor, something quite unusual on the 
like occasion. Muller was evidently in good spirits, and had difficulty in re- 
pressing a strong inclination to laugh. At the first blow he exploded ; his 
merriment increased during his cruel sufferings, and when at last he was left 
panting and bleeding on the ground in the yard he laughed till the tears came. 

“ Now, then,” said the bewildered officer, “ what has come over you ? Why 
do you laugh?” 

“I am laughing,” replied the victim, “because for the last half-hour you 
have been laboring under a tremendous delusion. There are two of us in the 
company, — myself, Hans Muller, and another, Fritz Muller. Fritz was sen- 
tenced to receive a flogging, and here you have been thrashing me for the last 
twenty minutes.” 

The emperor sent his congratulations to Hans “ for not complaining until 
he had taken his punishment .” — Annates Politiques et Litteraires. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


891 



T HE magnificent new office- 
building of the Manhattan 
Life Insurance Company 
is not only the tallest in the 
world, — towering three hundred 
and fifty feet above Broadway, 

— but is unique in many other 
respects. 

Its foundations rest on bed- 
rock, about fifty-five feet below 
the street. The building is sup- 
ported on thirty-two columns 
resting on fifteen masonry piers, 
built on steel caissons rammed 
full of concrete. The founda- 
tion cost nearly $150,000, or 
about ten per cent, of the total 
cost. The work was successfully 
accomplished by Sooysmith & 

Co., in four months, without the 
slightest damage to adjoining 
property. 

The front wall sustains its 
own weight, but no part of the 
floors, and is solid granite up to 
the Broadway level. All the 
other walls are carried at inter- 
vals on steel girders inserted 
between the columns. 

The structure will resist a 
wind-pressure considerably in 
excess of the greatest hurricane 
on record, which showed a maxi- 
mum velocity of eighty-four 
miles per hour, with a corre- 
sponding pressure of thirty-five 
pounds to the square foot. 

The building is a notable ex- 
ample of the new method of 
construction (skeletons of steel 
and iron covered with brick 
and stone). The steel frame, 
designed by C. 0. Brown, C.E., 
and manufactured by the Pen- 
coyd Iron Works, was erected 
in the unparalleled short time 
of three months. 

The boilers, three in number, 
furnished by the Quintard Iron 
Works, are able to evaporate 
13,500 pounds of water per 
hour. The gases pass down to 
a horizontal underground flue 
leading to the base of the 
smoke-stack, which is of steel, 

4£ feet in diameter and 258 feet 
high, and weighs over 120,000," 
pounds. 

The heating and ventilating 
apparatus was especially de- 
signed and erected by Gillis & 

Geoghegan. Ventilating regis- 
ters connect with vertical shafts 
fitted with electric ventilating 
fans. The air in each room 
changes about three times an 
hour, giving perfect ventilation. 

Outside air first passes over a 
radiator and is warmed before 
circulating through the room. 

The building has been equipped throughout for electric lighting, ventilating, and power. 
The lighting plant consists of three 50 kilowatt, ironclad dynamos, manufactured by the 
General Electric Company, each capable of generating current for one thousand sixteen- 
candle-power lamps. A power dynamo .operates the fans, elevators, motors, etc. 


892 


CURRENT NOTES. 


A Chinese Artist. — One picture that he showed a reporter was said to 
represent a garden-party, though it needed some assurance at first to dispel the 
idea that it was a catastrophe at sea. What looked like the raging main, how- 
ever, was really a Chinese turf, and the bent and bedraggled object in the fore- 
ground was not a wreck, but a tree. An awful print of a lost Celestial maid in 
the grasp of a devil-fish proved to be one of an almond-eyed damsel twined in 
the leaves and tendrils of a flowering shrub. Instead of slippery squids, as one 
might have supposed, were tambourines, and a rock in the boiling surge was 
only a pagoda set in the heather and bushes. 

A series of small paintings told a romantic story very dear to the Chinese 
heart. The hero of the pictorial tale was the strongest man in the empire, 
having become an athlete under the teaching of his wife, who was a female 
Samson. Together they challenged the world without soft gloves and “bar 
none.” In course of time, however, war came, and the wife was overpowered 
and taken away, leaving the husband very miserable. As the artist paints him 
standing mournfully at the door of his deserted lavender house, great vermilion 
tears roll down his mauve complexion, stain his green vest and trickle along his 
chromatic trousers, and sink into the scarlet and yellow earth. 

Then twenty years go by, and another war ensues. Two armies meet, and 
the strongest champions go forth for a preliminary combat. Behold ! The 
man and wife are sent against each other, and the artist rises to the occasion. 
He shows the husband holding his dulcinea out at arm’s length by her belt, 
and as he bears her away toward a saffron river which runs between sky-blue 
banks he has a fierce, bewhiskered joy on his face that invites not a pearl- 
tinted breeze, but a crimson hurricane to blow through it. Meanwhile, the 
captured giantess, demure and sweet, has surrendered without a murmur. 

The visiting knight of the brush uses pigments that will wash, and he says 
that one of his pictures can go through a Chinese laundry without the loss of 
the natural blue tint on a maiden’s cheek or of the delicate bronze flush of an 
opening flower or leaf . — Hawaiian Star. 

Montana’s Era of High Prices. — A reporter for the Salt Lake Tribune 
reports a conversation with a man who kept a fruit-stand in Helena in 1868. 
It was only a small stand in front of a store, but the rent of it was thirty dollars 
a month, and he was obliged to pay in advance. Much of his stock in trade 
was brought sixteen hundred miles by stage : 

“ Twenty-five cents would not go far in those days at a fruit-stand. One 
man who was courting a young lady used to come to my place and buy four 
apples for five dollars and carry them to his sweetheart. I always picked out 
four of the best ones, wrapped them in tissue-paper, and put them into a neat 
candy-box. After a while he got married, and I sold him no more apples. 

“The first year’s pineapples sold for seven dollars apiece. Oranges were 
two dollars and a half or three dollars each, and the men who are rich in Mon- 
tana to-day did not buy them. 

“The first sweet potatoes ever in Montana were sent to me, and cost me 
one dollar and thirty-five cents a pound. My first customer for them was a 
Chinese, who bought two pounds at a dollar and a half a pound.” 

Book-keepers were then paid twelve dollars a day. A very ordinary wooden 
building rented for four hundred dollars a month. Newspapers sold for fifty 
cents each, and magazines for a dollar and a quarter. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


893 


TEN REASONS FOR USING 

DOBBINS ELECTRIC SOAP. 

it is best from a sanitary point of view, is because of its absolute 
purity. 

it is unscented, is because nothing is used in its manufacture that 
must be hidden or disguised. 

it is cheapest to use, is because it is harder and dryer than ordinary 
soap, and does not waste away ; also because it is not filled with 
rosin and clay as make-weights. 

no boiling of clothes is needed, is because there is no adulteration 
in it — being absolutely pure, it can do its own work. 

it leaves clothes washed with it whiter and sweeter than any other 
soap, is because it contains no adulteration to yellow them. 

it washes flannels without shrinking, bringing them out soft, white, 
and fleecy, is because it is free from rosin, which hardens, yellows, 
and mats together all woollen fibres, making them harsh and coarse. 

three bars of it will make a gallon of elegant white soft-soap if 
simply shaved up and thoroughly dissolved by boiling in a gallon 
of water, is that it contains pure and costly ingredients found in no 
other soap. 

it won’t injure the finest lace or the most delicate fabric, is that all 
these ingredients are harmless. 

we paid $50,000 for the formula twenty-five years ago, is that we 
knew there was no other soap like it. 

so many millions of women use it, is that they have found it to be the 
best and most economical, and absolutely unchanging in quality, 

ASK YOUR GROCER FOR IT. co ' 

Send your full name and address to Dobbins Soap Manufacturing Company, Phila- 
delphia, Pennsylvania, by return mail, and get, free of all cost , a coupon worth several 
dollars, if used by you to its full advantage. Don’t delay. This is worthy attention. 
Mention Lippincotf s Magazine. 


THE REASON WHY 


44 44 44 

44 44 44 

44 44 44 

44 .44 44 

44 44 44 

44 <4 44 

44 44 44 

44 44 44 

44 44 44 


PROVIDENT LIFE AND TRUST CO. 
of Philadelphia. 

Safe Investments. Low Rate of Mortality. Low Expense Rate. 
Unsurpassed in everything which makes Life Insurance reliable and 
moderate in cost. 

Has never in its entire history contested a death loss. 


Do you use evaporated cream or unsweetened condensed milk, and desire 
the best? Then obtain from your grocer Borden’s Peerless Brand Evaporated 
Cream, which ranks first in quality. Prepared by New York Condensed Milk 
Company. 


894 


CURRENT NOTES. 


He made up the Dozen. — In times past there was in a certain law school 
an aged and eccentric professor. “ General information” was the old gentleman’s 
hobby. He held it for incontrovertible that if a young lawyer possessed a 
large fund of miscellaneous knowledge, combined with an equal amount of 
common sense, he would be successful in life. So every year the professor put 
on his examination papers a question very far removed from the subject of 
criminal law. One year it was, “ How many kinds of trees are there in the 
college yard?” the next, “What is the make-up of the present English 
cabinet?” 

Finally the professor thought he had invented the best question of his life. 
It was, “ Name twelve animals that inhabit the polar regions.” The professor 
chuckled as he wrote this down. He was sure he could “pluck” half the 
students on that question ; and it was beyond a doubt that that opprobrious 
young loafer Thompson would fail. But when the professor read the examina- 
tion papers, Thompson, who had not answered another question, was the only 
man who had solved the polar problem. This was Thompson’s answer: “Six 
seals and six polar bears.” Thompson got his degree with distinction. — London 
Tit-Bits. 

The Weather Forecast. — He entered the meteorological service office 
and said abruptly, “This ’ere’s where you give out weather predictions, ain’t it?” 

The clerk nodded. 

“ Well,” continued the old man, “ I thought as how I would come up and 
give you some tips.” 

“ Yes?” said the clerk, politely. 

“ Yes. I’ve figured on it a little, an’ I find that ye ain’t always right.” 

“No: we sometimes make mistakes.” 

“Course you do. We all do sometimes. Now, I was thinkin’ as how a line 
that used to be on the auction hand-bills down in our county might do fust-rate 
on your weather predictions an’ save you a lot of explainin’.” 

“ What was the line?” 

“ Wind an’ weather permittin’.” 

He went down without waiting to say good-by. — London Tit-Bits. 

Pope Joan a Fiction. — In spite of the learned historian by whom the 
story has been refuted, there is still a wide-spread popular belief that there 
existed in the Middle Ages a female pope. Pope Joan, as she is called, has 
even given her name to a game of cards ^hich is mentioned in Sheridan’s 
“ School for Scandal.” The tradition with regard to the female pope has been 
traced back to the eleventh century, but she is said to have lived much earlier, 
her pontificate having taken place in the ninth century and having lasted for 
more than two years. The name she is alleged to have assumed is John VII. 
At the last meeting of the Academy of Inscriptions, in Paris, M. Muntz dealt 
another blow at a story which Gibbon,, who cannot be suspected of Catholic 
prejudices, considered had been “annihilated” by two Protestant critics, Blon- 
del and Bayle. M. Muntz characterizes the legend as a vulgar fable invented 
in the Middle Ages. Never, he declares, after a careful study of the question, 
has a woman worn the tiara; and, moreover, there was no interregnum at the 
period when the pretended John VII. governed the Church. — London Daily 
News. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


895 



Villi \ 

Beware 


send it back. 


Go into the best 

grocery stores, 

in any city — the stores that have the most 
intelligent trade — and ask them what is best 
for washing and cleaning. They’ll tell you, 
“Pearline.” Ask them how the imitations 
compare with it, in quality and in sales. 

They’ll tell you that they’re far behind. 
What does this show? Why, that the 
people who have the finest and most 
delicate things to wash, and who would 
be least likely to risk these things with 
any dangerous washing-compound — it 
shows that these people have proved 
to themselves that Pearline is the best. 
And it certainly is. 

Peddlers and some unscrupulous grocers will tell you “this is as 
good as” or “the same as Pearline.” IT’S FALSE — Pearline is 
never peddled; if your grocer sends you an imitation, be honest — 
44 2 ‘ JAMES PYLE, New York. 


Bird-Manna! — The great secret of the canary-breeders 
of the Hartz Mountains, Germany. Bird-Manna will restore 
the song of cage-birds, will prevent their ailments, and restore 
them to good condition. If given during the season of shedding 
feathers it will, in most cases, carry the little musician through 
this critical period without loss of song. Sent by mail on re- 
ceipt of 15 cents in stamps: Sold by Druggists. Directions free. 
Bird Food Company, 400 North Third Street, Philadelphia, Pa. 



A New Cure for Asthma. — Medical science at last reports a positive 
cure for Asthma in the Kola Plant, found on the Congo River, West Africa. 
So great is their faith in its wonderful curative powers that the Kola Importing 
Company, 1164 Broadway, New York, are sending out large trial cases of the 
Kola Compound free to all sufferers from Asthma. Send your name and 
address on postal card, and they will send you a trial case by mail free. * 


896 


CURRENT NOTES. 


Japanese Flowers. — The Japanese are expert at gardening, and give 
such individual attention to each blossom that they obtain wonderful results. 
Upon asking a gardener if it were true that they helped the buds of delicate 
flowers to open by gently fanning them, the answer was that they do so in the 
case of choice flowers. 

No matter how humble the little home, it is brightened by a vase with at 
least one flower or spray of autumn leaves, etc. Their arrangement of flowers 
is always lovely, such harmonies of form and color. There is no stiffness, for 
they try to imitate nature. 

It is marvellous what man can do if he has the mind for it. I examined a 
tree in process of development. Almost every twig was tied with fine thread 
and “ bent in the way it should go.” 

The entire population turn out to honor the flowers and write poems, tying 
them to the branches. This habit of composing little poems is sometimes rather 
amusing. On one occasion when the British minister’s wife left for Europe the 
empress presented her with the versicle, “ Why does the gray goose fly home to 
her brood ?” 

The Japanese term for picnic signifies “ to go out and see flowers,” and a 
proverb runs, “ Flowers are better than dumplings .” — Clear Round. 


Her Chief Pleasure Gone. — “ Mrs. Guggins is feelin’ mighty miserable.” 
“ You don’t say so! I thought she was lookin’ in illegant health.” 

“ Yes, .that’s jest it. She’s feelin’ so well that she can’t think of nothin’ ter 
take patent medicines for, an’ she jes’ sits an’ reads the advertisements an’ 
pines.” — Washington Star. 


A Cool Proceeding. — “ I think about the most curious man I ever met,” 
said the retired burglar, “ I met in a house in eastern (Connecticut, and I shouldn’t 
know him, either, if I should meet him again, unless I should hear him speak. 
It was so dark where I met him that I never saw him at all. I had looked 
around the house down-stairs and actually hadn’t seen a thing worth carrying 
off. It was the poorest house I ever was in, and it wasn’t a bad-looking house on 
the outside, either. I got up-stairs and groped around a little, and finally turned 
into a room that was darker than Egypt. I had not gone more than three steps 
in this room when I heard a man say, — 

“‘ Hello, there.’ 

“‘ Hello,’ says I. 

“ ‘ Who are you?’ says the man : ‘ burglar ?’ 

“ And I said yes, I did do something in that line occasionally. 

‘“Miserable business to be in, ain’t it?’ said the man. His voice came 
from a bed over in the corner of the room, and I knew he hadn’t even sat up. 

“ And I said, ‘ Well, I dunno. I got to support my family some way.’ 

“‘Well, you’ve just wasted a night here,’ says the man. ‘Did you see 
anything down-stairs worth stealing?’ 

“ And I said no, I hadn’t. 

“‘Well, there’s less up-stairs,’ says the man; and then I heard him turn 
over and settle down to go to sleep again. I’d like to have gone over there and 
kicked him, but I didn’t. It was getting late, and I thought, all things con- 
sidered, that I might just as well let him have his sleep out .” — New York Sun. 


LIPPINCOTT’S 


MONTHLY ]\/[ AGAZINE - 

A 

POPULAR JOURNAL 


GENERAL LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND POLITICS. 


VOL. LIV.-JULY TO DECEMBER, 1894. 


PHILADELPHIA: 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. 

1894 . 


Copyright, 1894, hy J. B. Lippincott Company. 


\ 


Printed by J. B. Lippincott Company, Philadelphia, U.S.A. 


CONTENTS. 


« 


PAGE 


Arizona Speculation, An 

Ballad of the Drum, The 

Bargaining in Russia 

Bitter Root Mountains, In the 

Captain Close (A Novel) 

Captain Molly (A Novel) 

Case of Hoodoo, A "... 

Chinese Shops 

Coals of Fire 

Conscience Fund, The . . . . 

Creed of Manners, A 

Don Jaime, of Mission San Jose 

Dora’s Defiance (A Novel) . . 

“ Everlastin’ Buzzards’ Sit, The” 

Evolution of the Heroine, The 

Feminine Phases 

Head-Lines 

Hour before Death, An 

How I found the Baron 

Human Horses 

Incognito 

Inconsistent Franchises 

In Memoriam of the Ke} f s, An 

Japanese and Chinese Porcelains and their 

Imitations 

Josef Ilelmuth’s Goetz 

Little Red House, At the 

Live Ghost, A 

Living Pictures in the Louvre 

Localized Virtue . . 

Magazine Fiction, and how not to write it . . 

Man who died at Amdheran, The 

Marrini’s, At 

Mess of Pottage, A 

Military Manoeuvre, A 

Mill Girls 

Mrs. Ilallam’s Companion ( A Novel) . . . . 

Muscles and Morals 

Newspaper “ Faking” 

October Woods, In the 

Odd Neighbor, An 

Old New York Restaurants 

Question of Courage, A (A Novel) . . 

Rabbits in New Zealand 

Rector Warne’s Heresy 

Roman Nurse, A 

Roses, The 


Mary E. Stickney 685 

David Graham Adee 536 

Isabel F. Hapgood 680 

Ella Higginaon 700 

Captain Charles King 1 

Mary A. Denison 289 

William Cecil Elam 138 

Will Clemens 282 

LeRoy Armstrong 544 

Francis Leon Chrisman 103 

E. F. Benson 828 

Charles Howard Shinn 834 

Lady Lindsay 577 

Charles Mcllvaine 279 

Hjalrnar Hjorth Royesen 425 

Thomas Stinson Jarvis 235 

IF. T. Lamed 410 

Elizabeth Knowlton Carter 534 

Edward Wakefield 397 

Walter Rogers Furness 395 

W. S. Walsh 668 

F. K. Henry 416 

Johanna Staats 284 

Saburo Arai 557 

Frederick R. Burton 382 

Kate Jordan 522 

Ellen Mackubin 839 

A Ivan F. Sanborn 823 

Felix L. Oswald 539 

Frederic M. Bird 650 

Virginia Woodward Cloud ...... 664 

Richard Hamilton Butts 113 

Louise Stockton 124, 264 

Kate Lee Ashley 252 

Elizabeth Morris 119 

Mary J. Holmes 721 

Mary Elizabeth Blake 286 

George Grantham Bain 274 

James Knapp Reeve 527 

Charles C. Abbott 857 

Edgar Fawcett 709 

Francis Lynde 433 

J. N. Ingram 696 

Gillam W. Ford 675 

Ellen Olney Kirk 107 

Fannie E. Newberry 712 

iii 


\ 


IV 


COXTENTS. 


Rough-and-Tumble Landing, At the . . . . 

Sale of Uncle Rastas, The 

Scattered Sect, A 

Schools, My 

Second Thoughts, On 

Shall I Study Medicine ? 

Shooting Bob White 

Snub, The 

Songs of the Battle-Field 

Sweetheart Manette (A Novel) 

Talks with the Trade 

Telegraphy up to Date 

Ten Dollars a Day — No Canvassing 

Tragedy of Trade, A 

Uncared-for Cats 

Washington before the War 

Washington Correspondent, The 

Western Daisy Miller, A 

Women, Famous Rivalries of 

Women of the Past, Some Notable 

Poetry : 

A Garden Quest 

A Voice from the Night 

After the Summer 

Bob o’ Lincoln . . ' 

Crisis 

Ghosts . . 

Golden-Rod 

How could I Know? 

Immortal 

Mirage 

Night’s Ministry 

Nihil Humani Alienuin 

“ Perchance to Dream” 

Sorrow in Summer 

Thanksgiving 

The Goal 

The Pine-Tree 

The Statue 

The Traitor 

The Voice of the Morning . . . 

Vanity of Vanities 

Victory 

Wakened . . . . 


PAGE 

Charles G. D. Roberts 240 

Will N. Harben 403 

//. V. Brown 132 

Richard Malcolm Johnston ...... 703 

Lalage D. Morgan 420 

A. L. Benedict 811 

Calvin Bill Wilson 806 

Kate Milner Rabb 665 

Laura A. Smith 374 

Maurice Thompson 145 

142, 429, 862 

George J. Varney 571 

Philip G. Hubert, Jr 657 

Margaret Langdon 560 

Charles Henry Webb 246 

M. E. W. Sherwood . 259 

E. J. Gibson 715 

Claude M. Girardeau 814 

Gertrude Atherton 514 

Esme Stuart 846 

Harrison S. Morris 532 

H. Prescott Beach 845 

Emma J. Gompf 521 

Celia A. Hayward 123 

L. Worthington Green 535 

Clarence Ur my 861 

Charles G. B. Roberts 428 

Fannie Bent Dillingham - 278 

Florence Earle Coates 559 

Albert Pay son Terliune 695 

Bora Read Goodale 245 

Titus Munson Coan 381 

Margaret Gilman George 570 

William S. Lord 112 

Susie M. Beet 822 

Frank Bempster Sherman 394 

John B. Tabb 674 

John B. Tabb 258 

William H. Hayne 711 

Celia A. Hayward 543 

Zoe B. Underhill 131 

Florence Earle Coates 827 

Margaret Gilman George 263 


BOOKS THAT FIT THE HOLIDAY SEASON 


9 


A LL of which is quite a propos of one who loved 
both the birds and the men, — even “ Tray, 
Blanche, and Sweetheart, the little dogs, and 
all” about him. No finer soul ever visited the human 
shape than that 
named Washing- 
ton Irving. His 
Sketch-Book 

is a record of 
kindly observa- 
tion and gentle 
humor exercised 
upon his fellows 
whom he loved 
and therefore 
knew deeply. It 
lends itself with 
unusual grace to 
illustration, be- 
cause its types 
are so vivid and 
so picturesque. 

Illustrated it now has been once and for all time, and 
the Lippincott edition which you may find at all the 
Christmas counters will prove an ideal gift for either 
a youngster or a graybeard. The size of the two 
handsome volumes is that best adapted to daily use, 
and the type with which they are printed is entirely 
new and therefore exquisitely legible. 

R ICHARD STEELE, too, rollicking Dick Steele, 
is an author so honestly simple and unaffected 
that he has won the hearts of all the generations 
since he sowed his wild oats and passed away from Queen 
Anne’s London. His biography has never been ade- 
quately dealt with until now, when Mr. George Aitken 
has produced two ample volumes which give in all its 
lights and shades The Life of Richard Steele. 



io BOOKS THAT FIT THE HOLIDAY SEASON 



I T is perhaps safer, however, to write one’s own life. 
What should be left out is naturally best known 
to the subject himself. This, in an engaging 
way, neither exhaustive nor 
exhausting, has Mr. Henry 
Stacy Marks, R.A., done 
in his two elegant vol- 
umes, entitled Pen and 
Pencil Sketches. 

These contain four de- 
lightful photogravure 
plates and one hundred 
and twenty-four illustra- 
tions in facsimile from 
the author’s own draw- 
ings. The reputation of 
Mr. Stacy Marks in the 
English world of art will 
make his book welcome 

to all who value urbanity and beauty in happy union. 








T HOSE who drink or who want to drink a 
draught from the “ well of English undefiled, ” 
will give an ardent and hearty welcome to 
Early English Ballads, four volumes of which 
are appropriately offered to holiday 
seekers. These tasteful books con- 
tain two hundred capital illustrations, 
and in type and paper are the best prod- 
ucts of the combined houses of Messrs. 
Dent in England and Lippincott in 
America. There is an endless enjoyment 
both for the student and the layman in the 
merry or tragic ballads of old England, and 
every fibre of our Saxon ancestry thrills in 
us at their ringing tones. For a lusty boy, 
what better gift could be conceived ? 





BOOKS THAT FIT THE HOLIDAY SEASON 


1 1 


T HERE is but one step from these frank old bal- 
lads to Laurence Sterne. He lived in a day 
when humor and pathos ran to prose rather 
than to stanzas; hence his English ballads are Tris- 
tram Shandy and A Sentimental Journey. They are 
none the less true and saturated with 
Saxon blood. They are the classics of 
English letters, the common heritage of 
the Anglo-Saxon race. The present 
edition of the Works of Laurence 
Sterne is included in six volumes, aptly 
illustrated by E. J. Wheeler, and has 
been brought forth in company with 
Messrs. Dent & Co., of London, whose 
reputation for unique editions of Eng- 
lish classics is acknowledged by all who 
know good books. 

There is also a Large Paper Edition 
of the same, of which one hundred 
copies only have been printed : fifty for 
America. These are bound in buckram, 
and will naturally become rare as they pass into the 
hands of collectors. Those who value them for their 
contents alone, and think Sterne ill served with any- 
thing but the richest and best, must seek them early if 
they would anticipate the eager gatherer of ex libris 
copies. 



I N similar union with the London house of Dent 
& Co., has been published, in two volumes, 
Corinne ; or, Italy, by Madame de Stael. 
This is likewise illustrated with exceptional appropri- 
ateness, and the books are made in the most tasteful 
manner known to the publishing world. Of their 
accomplished authoress nothing can be said that has 
not already been better said. She was the reign- 
ing queen of intellect in France during a day when 
her subjects were great wits and profound scholars. 


BOOKS THAT FIT THE HOLIDAY SEASON 


Corinne is a token, to unborn generations, of Madame 
de Stael’s astonishing brilliancy. It has not for many 
years come forth in so rich a dress as in this edition. 
The old generation, which has read it, will therefore 
want it anew ; and the young, which has not, will be 
all the more eager to secure it, both for its internal 
and external beauty. Of this work also there is a 
special Large Paper Edition of one hundred copies : 
fifty for America. The bibliophile is making new arts 
of book-design and typography, and his mania for 
limited editions should be, and is, respected by the 
progressive publisher. 


* 



E NGLISH to the core are the sea-tales of Michael 
Scott. Tom Cringle’s Log is not new, 
saving to the junior generation, and never can 
be old. To open under the homestead lamp this 
book, or its sister story. 

The Cruise of the 
Midge, is to float away 
to new horizons. No bet- 
ter pleasure can be offered 
a manly boy or a womanly 
girl than a plunge into these 
thrilling and contagious sto- 
ries, and older heads do 
wisely, as some one has 
said, to “ peruse them 
once every year.” The 
present edition consists 
of two handy volumes 
devoted respectively to 
each book. They are 
made at once for beauty 
and for use, and the dec- 
orations and plates by 
Frank Brangwyn are a 
delight to the eye. 


BOOKS THAT FIT THE HOLIDAY SEASON 


3 


F ROM adventures and wars by sea to the same 
by land is but to dip into the book, by a 
new author, entitled The Marquis de 
La Fayette in the American Revolution. 



The subject is one very interest- 
ing to the student of our native 
history, and it has not hitherto 
been treated as it is in these 
two royal octavo volumes by 
Charlemagne Tower, Jr., LL.D. 
The attitude of France toward 
the War of Independence is in- 
vestigated at length, and Mr. 
Tower has brought learning and 
insight to his task. The re- 
kindling of interest in colonial 
history and gossip about our fore- 
fathers, which has lately been so 
noticeable, has another illustra- 
tion in this monograph. It will appeal especially to 
the Sons of the Revolution, Colonial Dames, and 
other kindred bodies. 


* 


W E come, at last, to the book which will perhaps 
touch more hearts, reach further out with sym- 
pathy and hope, than any in the long holiday 
list. And for “ the blessed Christmas 
season,” what work in the form of a 
book could have greater significance 
than the Imitation of Christ? 

Now that still another edition, this 
time from the eminent English church- 
man Canon Farrar, has been prepared, 
no one should be without a copy of 
this most precious of Christian guides. 

The new illustrations and illuminated 
initials render missal-like a book that 
will enter every household as an in- 
spiration. 






BOOKS THAT FIT THE HOLIDAY SEASON 


A FTER Napoleon, there is perhaps no figure in 
French history at once more picturesque, 
romantic, and warlike than King Henry of 
Navarre. He has been sung and painted by a throng 
of artists, and has been done into fiction and history 



by Bussoud, Valadon 
whose work is held in 


by scores of authors. The last 
is one of the best of these, be- 
cause the most impartial. This 
is Mr. Edward T. Blair, who 
has written a history, called 

Henry of Navarre and 
the Religious Wars. The 

wars themselves are as interest- 
ing as the actors in them. They 
mark the struggle of religious 
tolerance at its beginning, when 
a dash of the old chivalry still 
remained to give color and gal- 
lantry to the picture. The pres- 
ent volume, a square octavo, is 
an unusually handsome one. 
There are fifty-five cuts scat- 
and four full-page photogravures 
& Co., the notable French firm, 
high value throughout the world. 




I T is as well, however, to give something useful at 
Christmas. When the enthusiasm of the Holi- 
days is past the gift which is merely pretty — 
but no good book can ever be that alone— falls into 
disuse, grows dingy and stale, and becomes an annoy- 
ance to its enforced owner. A book like Cham- 
bers's Concise Gazetteer of the World, 

on the contrary, grows every day more necessary to 
the possessor, who will begin to wonder before the 
year is out, “ how he ever got along without it !” 
Occasions arise hourly for its employment. The 


BOOKS THAT FIT THE HOLIDAY SEASON 


5 


wars in the Orient, for instance, bring forward numer- 
ous queer names one has never heard of, but with 
which it is essential to be au courant . The Gazetteer 
— no ponderous cyclopaedia, but a single handy vol- 
ume — “ tells everything that may be reasonably wanted 
about every place likely to be looked for.” It is Topo- 
graphical, Statistical, and Historical, and uniform with 
The Reader’s Reference Library, than which, collec- 
tively, it would be impossible to find a more valu- 
able Christmas present for a lover of books, be he 
or she young or old. 




T HERE have been anthologies of English poetry 
innumerable, from the single precious volume 
of The Golden Treasury to the four ample 
ones of Ward’s English Poets. Nobody has hitherto 
had the happy invention to make a treasury of the 
older English prose, which for sonorous, eloquent, 
and pithy passages is unsurpassed in the literatures 
of the earth. To Mr. W. E. Henley, notable as a 
leader of the newest movement in English letters, 
and as a thoughtful poet and critic, has come the 
impulse to do the needed work. Rarely have work 
and worker gone more harmoniously together. His 
reading is wide and deep. His taste is superior. 
He gives us, in a volume charming in every way, — 
paper, type, cover, contents, — the cream of English 
prose from A.D. 1387 to 1649: from John Trevisa 
to Drummond of Hawthornden. He has been wise 
enough to ordain that each passage shall be com- 
plete in itself, and each shall relate or unfold a single 
character. The prose of adventure and romance 
has been preferred before the prose of reflection and 
analysis. A Book of English Prose will there- 
fore delight the reader’s fancy, while insensibly charm- 
ing him with the music of matchless style and diction. 
In a day of slangy English such a work is at once a 
standard and a remedy. 



B UT, that we shall all keep in touch with to-day, 
even while reaching back for the best of other 
days, is a factor in human life of untold impor- 
tance. And how, more agreeably, more contentedly 
and pleasurably, may we learn the purposes and per- 
ceive the currents of the throngs about us, than 
through the magnifying-glass called the Modern Novel? 
Each month brings its store, but the end of the year 
brings the best of all. Both author and publisher 
keep back their best till the last, for the winter, after 
all, is the season of reading, and the Holidays is the 
season of buying. Hence the counters are fuller of 
good novels now than at any time since last Christmas. 


The series of tales called By Reef and Palm, 
from the pen of Mr. Louis Becke, is, as Lord Pem- 
broke assures us in his introduction to it, 
the work of a veteran adventurer in the 
South Seas. The stories are brief, pointed, 
passionate, beautiful, and while unconnected 
in character and place, still combine in an 
atmosphere of tropical glow which fuses 
all together. The author is certain to win 
a fame as deserved and wide as Kipling’s and Loti’s. 



Adventure of the Occident, while more austere, is 
none the less stirring in the hands of a master of it, 
such as Captain Charles King. His last novel. 
Under Fire, starts with West Point and closes in 
the Wild West of America. It is a love-story, a 
soldier’s story, an Indian story, and a story of human 



BOOKS THAT FIT THE HOLIDAY SEASON 


17 


passions done into one inimitable picture of real life 
as it was lived in General Custer’s day, and in his 
heroic mood, in the Bad Lands and on the plains. 

¥ 


When a first novel wins a success, we naturally look 
for a second from the same source with the eagerness 
born of whetted appetite and critical comparison. 
Such is the feeling which greets 


The Spell of Ursula, which 
Mrs. Effie Adelaide Rowlands gives 
for an encore . My Pretty Jane ! 
made a wide group of friends for 
the new novelist, and this second 
book will not disappoint the most 
exacting of them. It likewise deals 
with the English high life which 
the author knows best, and deals 
with it in the same winning manner 
which fascinated us in the earlier 
book. 



' 7/ T 

1 ■' 


From high life in England to the same in America 
is apparently but a short step, but in reality the differ- 
ence is a deep and vital one, — the step is across the 
sea. Dress, habit, custom, even accent and tongue are 
enough contrasted to make an essential divergence. No 
better witness of this could be desired than is afforded 
by the novels of Mrs. Rowlands and Mrs. Cruger. 
Mrs. Van Rensselaer Cruger, called Julien Gordon, 
knows her dramatis persona to the life. She has been 
reared in the social atmosphere of New York, and 
her pen makes no mistakes. Hence her stories are 
real. She is a skilled and graceful author. Hence 
they are delightful. Poppaea is a novel whose hero- 
ine gives it a title, and it possesses in a marked degree 
the merits which have made Mrs. Cruger notable : 
merits recognized and praised by the German novelist 
Spielhagen, who places Mrs. Cruger in the front rank 
of American novelists. 


BOOKS THAT FIT THE HOLIDAY SEASON 


Striking in their contrast with these tales of social 
life, the short stories of Mrs. L. T. Meade, strung 
on the thread of Dr. Halifax’s practice, and called 
Stories from the Diary of a Doctor, are 
vividly unreal, and are colored with just the grewsome 
touch which goes best with a dim lamp and a crack- 
ling grate-fire. For reading aloud they would be nearly 
perfect. They will hold with a spectre’s grip a single 
reader or a throng. They are dramatic, often melo- 
dramatic, and haunt the memory like a fascinating 
dream. 

Another English writer who has a multitude of 
readers in America is W. E. Norris. No one holds 
his own with a surer power. His last novel. 
The Despotic Lady, will be found just as accept- 
able as his first ; and the few who have not read all 
of his books would do well to begin with this latest, 
insuring themselves a prolonged enjoyment by read- 
ing backward through his works. 

Fiction that gallops in a wild plunge from start to 
finish — that, once mounted, you must ride to the end — 

is the demand of sated 
readers nowadays. Hence 
we have such rapid and 
rousing tales as The 
Double Emperor, by 
William Laird Clowes, 
one of the new group of 
romancers who cry loyally 
back to Scott and Dumas. 
It is a tale of the German 
William, under a thin dis- 
guise, who is stolen by a 
swift Cunarder in unscru- 
oulous American hands. But his Double makes all 
things well, even the heart of his affianced Princess. 



BOOKS THAT FIT THE HOLIDAY SEASON 


19 




The kindly author who wrote Not Like Other 
Girls, has said, (( My ambition has ever been to try 
to do good and not harm by my works,” and in a day 
of tendency-fiction this is an achievement. She has 
well fulfilled her aim hitherto ; and now comes another 
book. The Old, Old Story, with all her charm 
and excellence, and with an appeal to young girls and 
their good mothers, which will win many new friends 
for Miss Rosa Nouchette Carey. 



Just a shade younger will be the girls who will like 
the tale named after its pretty 
heroine, Olivia. Mrs. Moles- 
worth has an established place 
in the hearts of the new genera- 
tion ; and while this altogether 
charming tale — simple, sweet, 
funny — cannot increase, it will 
confirm it. Olivia’s diverting 
plans to humble the pride of 
her rich relations please every- 
body between the covers who 
is in the secret, and they will 
win every reader to a love of 
the author and her striking 
creation. It is a difficult 
achievement to keep within 
the close limits between what 
is juvenile and grown up in 
fiction ; but Mrs. Molesworth 
seems to possess a fine instinct 
and sympathy which enable 
her perfectly to maintain the 
balance. Hence her tales are delightful to all three 
classes of readers : those in their teens, the little ones 
just beginning, and the old ones who love the senti- 
ment of youth. The illustrations of Olivia pleasantly 
amend the text and add a note of enjoyment, as pictures, 
especially those for young people, too often do not. 



20 


BOOKS THAT FIT THE HOLIDAY SEASON 


For still earlier blooms in the “ Rosebud gardens of 
girls,” it is predicted that there will not appear dur- 
ing all this Holiday-time a nicer, daintier, more wholly 
readable little book than Two Girls. It is the prod- 
uct of the pen of Amy E. Blanchard, author of 
Twenty Little Maidens, and of the brush of Ida 
Waugh, themselves two artists whose taste is as pure 
and sweet as the story. The year-round of a young 
girl’s life is the theme, and it is made alluring by 



many pleasant inventions and some inimitable pict- 
ures, of which the above reduction is a good example. 
Stories of domestic life, when they gather us about 
the fireside and make us eavesdroppers upon the 
prattle of the nursery, are the most effective kind 
of teaching by indirection. Children can better be 
tempted to education than forced to. acquire it ; and 
every new writer for juvenile readers who hopes to 
succeed in winning their hearts, and hence their heads, 
must henceforth use this method. 


BOOKS THAT FIT THE HOLIDAY SEASON 21 


The two subjects which most please children are 
the domestic and the mystical, 
own little habits and pictures 
in a big book clothes these 
with a new delight. To meet 
among the pages of a pleasant 
volume the strange creatures 
of fairy-land is a fearful joy 
which holds the mind in an 
ecstasy and leaves a permanent 
uplifting of the young spirit. 

Hans Andersen is the laureate 
of fairy-land. He knew all 
its winding ways, and was the 
familiar of its little people. 

He could speak the elfin tongue, 
and his interpretations of what 
he heard form a book which 
every new generation of chil- 
dren makes its own. Tales 
from Hans Andersen, 

in which many of the best of these fairy-tales are 
included, is therefore a collection especially adapted 
for Christmas, — the season of children and of good 
fairies. 

The first day after the feast is but a poor make- 
believe. The lights are out, the guests are gone, the 
house is still. But with a companionable, or merry, 
or pathetic, or wise book — the fruit of the 
Holiday-tree — one is sure of the 
good cheer of Christmas all 
the year round. 

* 


To read about their 



PRICE-LIST OF 

HOLIDAY BOOKS 


ABBOTT, Charles C. The Birds About Us. Illustrated. 
i2mo. Cloth, $z.oo. 

Travels in a Tree-Top. i2mo. Cloth, $1.25. 

AITKEN, George. The Life of Richard Steele. Two volumes. 
8 vo. Cloth, $4.50. 

A’KEMPIS, Thomas. The Imitation of Christ. Edited by 
Canon Farrar. Illustrated. Cloth, $1,505 morocco, $4.50. 
BECKE, Louis. By Reef and Palm. With Introduction by 
Lord Pembroke. i6mo. Cloth, $1.00. 

BLAIR, Edward T. Henry of Navarre and the Religious Wars. 
Illustrated 8vo. Paper, $3.50; cloth, $4,005 half calf, 
$6.00. 

BLANCHARD, Amy E. Two Girls. Illustrated by Ida 
Waugh. i2mo. Cloth, $1.25. 

BURNS’S COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS. Arranged by 
W. Scott Douglas. Three volumes. i6mo. Cloth, $2.25 5 
half calf, $5.00. 

CHAMBERS’S CONCISE GAZETTEER OF THE WORLD. 
8vo. Half morocco, $2.50. 

CLOWES, William Laird. The Double Emperor. Illustrated. 
i2mo. Cloth, $1.25. 

DE STAEL, Madame. Corinne 5 or, Italy. Illustrated. Two 
volumes. l6mo. Cloth, $2,005 half calf, $4-5°- Large 
Paper Edition. Two volumes. 8vo. Buckram, $6.00. 
DOUGLAS, Robert R. Society in China. Illustrated. 8vo. 
Silk, $4.50. 

EARLY ENGLISH BALLADS. Chosen by R. Brimley John- 
son. Four volumes. Illustrated. l6mo. Cloth, $5,005 
half calf or half morocco, $10.00. 

ENCHIRIDION OF CRITICISM. New Illustrated Edition. 

Edited by William Shepard. Small 4to. Cloth, $1.50. 
GOLDEN TREASURY OF SONGS AND LYRICAL 
POEMS. Selected by F. T. Palgrave. Edited by John 
Foster Kirk. Illustrated. 8vo. Cloth, $1.50. 

GORDON, Julien. Poppaea. i2mo. Cloth, $1.00. 

HANS ANDERSEN’S FAIRY-TALES. Profusely illustrated. 
Small 4to. Cloth, $1.50. 

HAZLITT, William. Liber Amoris. Limited Edition. Illus- 
trated. $6.00 net. 


PRICE-LIST OF HOLIDAY BOOKS 


2 3 


IRVING, Washington. The Sketch Book. New Illustrated 
Edition. Two volumes. 8vo. Cloth, $4.00: half calf, 
$7.00. 

KEATS’S POETICAL WORKS. Arranged by H. Buxton 
Forman. Three volumes. Illustrated. Crown 8vo. Cloth, 
gilt top, $4.50; half calf, $7.50; three-quarters calf, $9.00. 
KERNAHAN, Coulson. Sorrow and Song. i2mo. Cloth, 
#1. 25- 

KING, Captain Charles. Under Fire. Illustrated. i2mo. 
Cloth, $1.25. 

KNIGHT’S HALF-HOURS WITH THE BEST AUTHORS. 
New Illustrated Edition. Four volumes. Cloth, gilt top, 
$6.00; half calf, $10.00; three-quarters calf, $1 3.00. 

LORD CHESTERFIELD’S LETTERS. Five volumes. 8vo. 

Cloth, $12. 50 ; half calf, $20.00 ; three-quarters calf, $22.50. 
MARKS, Henry Stacy, R.A. Pen and Pencil Sketches. Pro- 
fusely illustrated. Two volumes. 8vo. Cloth, gilt top, 
$8.00. 

MASSON, Frederick. Napoleon at Home. Illustrated. Two 
volumes. 8vo. Cloth, $7.50. 

Napoleon and the Fair Sex. Illustrated. 8vo. Cloth, $5.00. 
MEADE, Mrs. L. T. Stories from the Diary of a Doctor. Il- 
lustrated. i2mo. Cloth, $1.25. 

MOLESWORTH, Mrs. Olivia. A Story for Girls. Illustrated. 
i2mo. Cloth, $1.25. 

MORRIS, Harrison S. Madonna and Other Poems. Illustrated. 
i2mo. Cloth, $2.00. 

Where Meadows Meet the Sea. Illustrated. 8vo. Cloth, 
$3.50; half morocco, $4.00 ; three-quarters calf, $5.00. 

In the Yule-Log Glow. Four volumes. Illustrated. i6mo. 
Cloth, $4.00; half calf, $8.00. 

Tales from Ten Poets. Three volumes. Illustrated. i6mo. 
Cloth, $3.00; half calf, $6.00; three-quarters calf, $7.50. 
MORRIS, Charles. Historical Tales. American , English , French , 
German. Four volumes. i2mo. Cloth, $5.00; half calf, 
$10.00. 

Tales from the Dramatists. Four volumes. Illustrated. 
i6mo. Cloth, $4.00; half morocco, $8.00; three-quarters 
calf, $10.00. 

King Arthur and the Knights of the Round-Table. Three 
volumes. Illustrated. i6mo. Cloth, $3.00; half calf, $6.00. 
MY FIRST BOOK. The experiences of twenty-three notable 
authors. Edited by Jerome K. Jerome. Profusely illustrated. 
8vo. Cloth, $2.50. 

NORRIS, W. E. The Despotic Lady. i2mo. Cloth, $1.00. 


24 


PRICE-LIST OF HOLIDAY BOOKS 


NYE, Bill. The Comic History of the United States. Illus- 
trated by F. Opper. 8vo. Cloth, $2.00 ; Illustrations col- 
ored by hand, $3.00. 

ROWLANDS, Effie Adelaide. My Pretty Jane ! With Por- 
trait. iamo. Cloth, $1.00. 

The Spell of Ursula. i2mo. Cloth, $1.00. 

SCOTT, Michael. The Cruise of the Midge. Two volumes. 
Illustrated. i6mo. Cloth, $2.00$ half calf, #4. 50. 

Tom Cringle’s Log. Two volumes. Illustrated. 1 6mo. 
Cloth, $2.00; half calf, $4.50. 

STERNE’S WORKS. Edited by George Saintsbury. Illus- 
trated by E. J. Wheeler. Six volumes. i6mo. Cloth, 
$6.00; half calf, $13.50. Large Paper Edition. Six vol- 
umes. 8vo. Buckram, $18.00. 

STONE, Mary E. A Riddle of Luck. i2mo. Cloth, $1.25. 
STRICKLAND, Agnes. The Lives of the Queens of England. 
Eight volumes. Illustrated. 8vo. Cloth, $1 6.00 ; half calf, 
$28.00; three-quarters calf, $32.00. Cabinet Edition. Eight 
volumes. l2mo. Cloth, $12.00 ; half calf, $24.00; three- 
quarters calf, $28.00. 

TALES FROM SHAKSPEARE. By Charles and Mary 
Lamb. With a continuation and completion by Harrison 
S. Morris. Four volumes. i6mo. Cloth, $4.00; half 
calf, $8.00; three-quarters calf, $10.00. 

THIERS, Louis Adolphe. The History of the French Revolu- 
tion. Five volumes. Illustrated. 8vo. Cloth, $15.00; 

three-quarters calf, $25.00. 

History of the Consulate and the Empire of France. Twelve 
volumes. Cloth, $36.00; half calf, $60.00. 

TOWER, Charlemagne, Jr., LL.D. The Marquis de La Fa- 
yette in the American Revolution. Two volumes. Illustrated. 
Royal 8vo. Cloth, gilt top, uncut, $8.00. 

WETHERELL, Elizabeth. The Wide, Wide World. Illustrated. 

by Dielman. Octavo. Cloth, $2.50; leather, $3.50. 
WHARTON, Anne H. Colonial Days and Dames. Illustrated. 
l2mo. Cloth, $1.25. Limited Edition de Luxe. $3.50. 
Through Colonial Doorways. i2mo. Cloth, $1.25. 

The Colonial Library. — Through Colonial Doorways and 
Colonial Days and Dames. Two volumes in a box, $2.50. 
WISTER, Owen. The Dragon of Wantley. Illustrated by 
John Stewardson. 8vo. Cloth, $1.50. 


LIPPINCOTTS 

MAGAZINE 

— 1895 — 

Twenty-Eighth Annual Announcement. 

HE increasing circulation of this 
magazine testifies to the popu- 
larity of the special feature which 
Lippincott’s introduced, and has 
alone carried on successfully 
through a series of years, — the presentation of 
a Complete Novel in every number. Not a few 
well-known authors have thus won their first 
fame in these pages. During the coming year 
novels may be expected from Captain King, 
Amelie Rives, Gertrude Atherton, Mrs. Stickncy, 
Mrs. Alexander, Miss Train (author of. “The 
Autobiography of a Professional Beauty”), and 
other favorite writers. 

The short story, which has lately taken: so 
prominent a place in our home literature, -will 
continue to occupy much of our space. New 
writers are continually challenging comparison 



with those of established repute, and the best 
work of both will be presented. 

Our more “ solid” articles will handle what- J 
ever topics are of human interest, — criticism, 
travel, biography, manners and customs, sports, 

— the range cannot be too wide. We wish to 
be judged by our performance rather than by 
our promises, and propose not only to maintain 
the standards of the past but to surpass them, 
introducing new features while preserving those 
hitherto approved, and raising the tone while 
increasing the attractiveness of our pages. Our 
plans insure constant variety, -—variety of sub- 
ject, of style, and of authorship. Rarely does 
the same name appear in two successive issues, 
or more than twice within a volume. 

It was claimed not long ago in New York 
that the ideal magazine must be illustrated. It 
might be urged with equal reason . that it must 
not be. In one case, people buy the periodical 
to look at the pictures; in the other, to read its 
contents. Being unencumbered with illustra- 
tions, Lippincott’s can afford to appeal to the 1 
brain with less to amuse the eye, and more 
than make up to its patrons for the lack of 
•cuts. Its aim is simply to offer the best popu- 
lar reading, wherein wholesome entertainment -1 
shall blend with useful information. 




b 


T HE following partial list of those who have 
supplied us in the past with novels, short 
stories, essays, sketches, and poems will 
indicate what may be looked for in the future: 


Captain Charles King, 
James Lane Allen, 
Rudyard Kipling, 

A. Conan Doyle, 

Bret Harte, 

Julian Hawthorne, 
Gilbert Parker, 

E. F. Benson, 

Robert Barr, 

W. E. Norris, 

Oscar Wilde, 

Joel Chandler Harris, 

R. H. Stoddard, 

R. M. Johnston, 

H. H. Boyesen, 

Maurice Thompson, 

G. A. Townsend, 

W. H. Bishop, 

Sidney Luska, 

John Habberton, 

Joaquin Miller, 

Edgar Fawcett, 

Edgar Saltus, 

T. C. De Leon, 

C. G. D. Roberts, 

Frances Lynde, 

Charles Mcllvaine, 

Subscription Price, per 


Amelie Rives, 

Mrs. Burnett, 

Mrs. Hungerford (“ The Duchess”), 
Mrs. H. Lovett Cameron, 

Mrs. Mary J. Holmes, 

Julien Gordon, 

Marion Harland, 

Gertrude Atherton, 

Anna Fuller, 

Christian Reid, 

Amelia E. Barr, 

Ellen Olney Kirk, 

Grace King, 

Lady Lindsay, 

Rosa Nouchette Carey, 

M. G. McClelland, 

Julia Magruder* 

Mary E. Stickney, 

Mary E. Wilkins, 

Louise Stockton, 

Kate Jordan, 

Agnes Repplier, 

Molly Elliott Seawell, 

Louise Chandler Moulton, 
Florence Earle Coates, 

Ella Wheeler Wilcox, 

Ella Higginson. 


Annum, $3.00. 


• Lippincott’s Magazine, Philadelphia, Pa. 


The January Number of 

Lippincotf s Magazine 

Ready December 20 


(Christmas and New Year’s number), will contain a Complete 
Novel entitled 


THE WAIFS 

OF 

FIGHTING ROCKS. 


BY 

CAPTAIN CHARLES McILVAINE. 

/ 


ALSO, 

THE USUAL VARIETY OF STORIES, ESSAYS, 
POEMS, ETC. 


d 


BOOKS THAT FIT 
THE HOLIDAY 
SEASON 



J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY 
PHILADELPHIA MDCCCXCIV 


^^jhristmas is in the air. The pine-trees which have- 
done service all summer as scenery to allure the 
tourist, are ready to be transplanted to the winter 
fireside. Their fruit shall be tinsel and bonbons, and 
their light, candle-light. The summer novel which 
long haunted their shade is displaced by the more 
solid and seemly books of in-doors. Sentiment, fic- 
tion, poetry, the good old classics, history, science, 
and, above all, a pile of reading for the little ones to 
whom Christmas is consecrated — all these should lie 
heaped beneath the Tree, and they may be had for 
the asking, as the ensuing pages will show. 


BOOKS THAT FIT 
THE HOLIDAY 

SEASON 


T HERE was need for some one well equipped 
with knowledge and enthusiasm to adventure 
among the yellow records of Colonial Days 
and bring back to us the life which was so picturesque, 
so gallant, and yet so leisurely and simple. It required 
a good heart, good taste, and a fearless disregard of 
contemporary opinion, which finds little excuse for 
what is beyond itself. 

This pleasant task Miss 
Anne H. Wharton has 
done in a way which leads 
through sympathy to truth, 

and in Colonial Days 
and Dames she has 
given us a picture of the 
oldest social life we can 
claim as our own, of the 
stately men and beautiful women from whom we are 
proud to have sprung, and of the times which made 
them what they were. Colonial Days and Dames is a 
needed supplement and a graceful companion picture 
to Through Colonial Doorways, in which 
Miss Wharton last year took a keen glance backward 
at the town-life of early Philadelphia, New York, 
and Boston. The eager demand for Through Colo- 
nial Doorways makes an easy pathway to success for 
Colonial Days and Dames, which volume, travelling 
along the same pathway, deals with new aspects, new 
people, and new episodes of early American society. 
Besides the regular edition of the Colonial Days and 



4 


BOOKS THAT FIT THE HOLIDAY SEASON 


Dames, which appears in a spotless costume of pale 
blue cloth, there is an Edition de Luxe , limited to the 


number of subscribers, which 
contains a treasury of por- 
traits in photogravure, and 
other valuable illustrations 
drawn from exclusive sources 
which have been placed at 
the disposal of the author by 
descendants of the Colonial 
Dames whom she celebrates. 
Indeed, both of these delight- 
ful volumes make an especial 
appeal to those who have 



formed the influential society so well named Colonial 
Dames. 




A LL of which reminds us that in the Colonial 
Days, as now again, Philadelphia was beginning 
to take its place as a literary centre. Then 
came the period of its supremacy ; then a long silence. 
The silence has of late been broken by a small chorus 
of voices promising a new life, among which is that 
of the author of Madonna and Other Poems. 
In most of the important magazines, poems by Mr. 
Morris have appeared, and have given him a standing 
with readers of taste 



the work of the au- 
thor which he has cared to preserve. It is saturated 
with the beauty of our own pastoral meadows and 
hills, and breathes of the familiar voices of home. 


BOOKS THAT FIT THE HOLIDAY SEASON 


5 


The frontispiece is a Madonna by Mr. F. V. Du 
Mond, an artist celebrated for his devotional pictures. 
Supplementing this are thirty head- and tail-pieces, de- 
signed especially for the volume by Mr. E. S. Hollo- 
way. The edition is made rare by limitation to seven 
hundred and fifty copies for America and England, and 
in title and contents, cover-design, title-page, type, and 
paper, the volume forms a holiday gift of unusual 
charm. 

* 



B UT tastes vary, and so must books. The elegance 
of literature proper needs the weight of history 
to balance it. Hence are offered to those who 
prefer to make solid Christmas presents the five 
volumes of Thiers’s History of the French 
Revolution. For substantial reading that will re- 
main a life-long resource 
alike to young or old, noth- 
ing takes precedence of this 
standard work on the most 
tragic and picturesque epi- 
sode of modern times. The 
volumes are issued monthly 
beginning with September, 
and are bound and printed 
in a manner which does jus- 
tice to their distinguished 
author. In similar style 
may also be had Thiers S 
History of the Con- 
sulate and the Em- 
pire of France, which 

of course should be read 
last, in order to keep the 
proper sequence of events. 

A library shelf ornamented with these volumes will 
carry contentment and instruction for all the fireside 
months. 


6 


BOOKS THAT FIT THE HOLIDAY SEASON 



F ITLY following these noble volumes upon the 
history of France come two on the kindred sub- 
ject now uppermost in contemporary letters, — 
namely, Napoleon I. The revival of interest in this 
great figure of modern history has led to the issue of 
much new information upon his career. There has 
been, and is, an eager demand 
for details concerning his in- 
timate daily life, and this is now 
supplied in the two works : 
Napoleon at Home, two 
volumes, and Napoleon 
and the Fair Sex, by 
Frederick Masson. No au- 
thor is better acquainted with 
these fascinating subjects, and 
his two books will be a neces- 
sary addition to the shelves of 
every collector of Napoleoni- 
ana. They will appeal, also, 
to those who wish to make 
a pleasing gift at Christmas 
which will be sure of an end- 
less succession of readers. The 
Napoleon of the battle-field 
and throne is a character of 
power and majesty who com- 
pels interest. The Napoleon 
of the Tuileries is a figure 
who entices it. His court, 
his private friends, his enemies, 
and his affairs of the heart are 
in these volumes laid open to us in an intimate way; 
and, like the various Memoirs and Recollections lately 
published, the narrative gives us an entirely novel view 
of the Man of Destiny. That the old view, which 
looked upon him solely as a monster, is beginning, in 
the light of such revelations, to change for the better, 
is a fact much commented upon by those who watch 
the currents of the times. 


BOOKS THAT FIT THE HOLIDAY SEASON 


7 


SORROW 

AND 

SONG 


A ND if Napoleon is a subject of inexhaustible 
interest to a curious world, so also are those 
poets who “ learn in suffering what they teach 
in song.” Mr. Coulson Kernahan, made notable by 
his Book of Strange Sins and A Dead Man’s 
Diary, has conceived the happy device of 
grouping five of such authors together for 
collective study in one volume, entitled 
Sorrow and Song. He deals sympa- 
thetically with Heine, Rossetti, Mrs. Louise 
Chandler-Moulton, Robertson of Brighton, 
and the Blind Poet Marston ; and the sor- 
rows of each poet or thinker lend a reflected 
light of understanding to the others. We 
can better comprehend a tendency in letters 
when the varying specimens are contrasted, 
and, here, the selection has been subtle and 
the juxtaposition is perfect. While the sub- 
ject is a mournful one, the reading is by no 
means so. We all love the personality of 
a poet, and a dash of melancholy adds zest 
to the story. The binding, letter-press, 
and title-page are a delight to cultured eyes as the con- 
tents are to cultured minds. 



KERNAHAN 


F ROM the sorrows of authors t< 
tures in letters is but a very 
one commonly implies the 
other. But in My First Book 
there is so much to divert and in- 
struct that the difficulties of early 
authorship are mitigated, at least 
to the reader. This book, like- 
wise, is the happy device of a deft 
hand in book-making. Jerome K. 
Jerome has brought it together, and 
his associates in fame have furnished 
the material. There are narratives 
giving the origin of his or her first 


their first adven- 
brief step. The 



BOOKS THAT FIT THE HOLIDAY SEASON 


book from twenty-two celebrities of English author- 
ship. The names — any one of which would place 
a volume in the front rank — are Walter Besant, James 
Payn, W. Clark Russell, Grant Allen, Hall Caine, 
George R. Sims, Rudyard Kipling, A. Conan Doyle, 
M. E. Braddon, F. W. Robinson, Rider Haggard, 
R. M. Ballantyne, I. Zangwill, Morley Roberts, D. 
Christie Murray, Marie Corelli, Jerome K. Jerome, 
John Strange Winter, Bret Harte , “ Q,” Robert Louis 
Stevenson, and Robert Buchanan. 




A ND then, again, talking of poets, we are naturally 
. led to The Birds About Us. But Dr. 
Charles C. Abbott, who knows men and women 
as well as birds, and who has brought 
us in touch with nature and pleasant 
human sentiment from many sides, has 
this time decided to be wholly technical. 

Yet his genial spirit glows through even 
a very exhaustive hand-book on our native 
birds, so that one is led into knowing 
them as friends rather than as subjects for 
dissection. Out-door nature is coming in 
for much study in these days, and it is wise for all 
to learn “ the art of taking a walk.” The book is 
liberally illustrated to enable the reader to identify 
the birds about him on sea and land. There is 
anecdote and picturesque description in abundance, 
as there rightly should be in such a book. Old 
Izaak Walton well knew this when he wrote The 
Complete Angler. His dry passages on the art of 
fishing are laid between the songs of dairy-maids and 
the speech of merry companions. Dr. Abbott is too 
much a lover of nature to think dogmat- 
ically or to write pedantically, and he has 
made a book Izaak Walton would gladly 
have approved of. 




LIPPINCOTT'S MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 


Roberts’ Holiday Hints. 


VOYAGE OF THE LIBERDADE. 

By Captain Joshua Slocum. Small 4to. Cloth. Illustrated. $1.00. 


Moliere’s Dramatic Works. 

A New Edition. Translated by Katharine 
Prescott Worm eley. With a Preface by 
Balzac, Criticisms by Sainte-Beuve, and 
: Portraits by Coypel and Mignard. 6 vols. 
i2mo. Half Russia, $1.50 per vol. 

Keynotes. 

A Volume of Stories. By George Egerton. 
i6mo. Cloth, $ 1. 00 . 

“ A work of genius .” — London Speaker. 


The Wedding Garment. 

A Tale of the Life to Come. By Louis Pen- 
dleton. i6mo. Cloth, $1.00; white and 
gold, $1.25. 

Author’s Edition of 
George Meredith’s Novels. 

A popular edition. Bound in Library Style. 
10 vols. i6mo. Cloth, $1.50 per vol.; 
Crown 8vo edition, $2.00 ; half calf extra, 
$25.00 per set. 


the minor tactics of chess. 


A Treatise on the Deployment of the Forces in Obedience to Strategic Principle. 
Young and E. C. Howell, i6mo. Cloth, $1.00. 


By F. K. 


THE LOVER’S YEAR=BOOK OF POETRY. 

Married-Life and Child-Life. A collection of Love Poems for every day in the year. By 
Horace Parker Chandler. Vol. 1, January to June. i6mo. Vol, 2, July to December, 
$1.25 each; white and gold, $1.50 each. 


The World Beautiful. 

By Lilian Whiting. i6mo. Cloth, $1.00; 
white and gold, $1.25. 

“After all, it rests with ourselves as to whether we shall 
live in a World Beautiful .” — Page io. 


Boston Cook=Book. 

What To Do and What Not To Do in Cook- 
ing. By Mrs. D. A. Lincoln. i2mo. 
$2.00. 


the little lady of the horse. 

By Evelyn Raymond. With 21 Illustrations by Frank T. Merrill. Small4to. Cloth, $1.50. 


Not Quite Eighteen. 

By Susan Coolidge. A Volume of Stories. 
Illustrated by Jessie McDermott. i6mo. 
Cloth, $1.25. 

Father Gander’s Melodies. 

For Mother Goose’s Grandchildren. By 
Adelaide F. Samuels. Illustrated by 
Lillian Trask Harlow. Small 4to. 
Cloth, $1.25. 

Another Girl’s Experience. 

A Story for Girls. By Leigh Webster. 
Illustrated by Jessie McDermott. i6mo. 
Cloth, $1.25. 


Penelope Prig and Other Stories. 

By A. G. Plympton. Illustrated by the 
author. Small 4to. Cloth, $1.00. 

Rags and Velvet Gowns. 

By A. G. Plympton. Illustrated by the author. 
Square i2mo; Cloth back, paper sides, 50 
cents. 

Jolly Good Times To=Day. 

By Mary P. Wells Smith. Illustrated by 
Jessie McDermott. i6mo. Cloth, $1.25. 

The Kingdom of Coins. 

A Tale for Children of all Ages. By John 
Bradley Gilman. Illustrated by Mer- 
rill. A new and improved edition. Small 
4to. 60 cents. 


Roses of Romance. (Keats) . . . 
Flowers of Fancy. (Shelley) . . . 
Balzac’s Novels. 29 vols. Each . 
Austen’s Novels. 12 vols. Each . 
Far from To=Day. (Hall) . . . . 

Daily Strength 

Chas. Sumner. (Pierce) 4 vols. Each 


$1.00 
1. 00 
1.5° 
1.25 
1. 00 


At all Book Stores. Post-paid on 
receipt of price. 

Roberts Brothers, 


1. 00 

3.00 

25 


Publishers, Boston. 


LIPPINCOTT'S MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 



THE SHERMAN LETTERS. 

Correspondence between General and Senator Sherman from 1837 to 1891. Edited by Rachel 
Sherman Thorndike. With Portraits. 8vo, $3.00. 

“ A unique collection of letters, rich in material for future historical study, and vitally interesting as a series of uncon- 
scious self revelations of two eminent men of original power and strong characteristics. Valuable as a contribution to 
history, it has the charm and fascination of an enthralling character-study .” — New York Tribune. 


Three Score and Ten Years. 

Recollections. By W. J. Linton. With Por- 
trait. 8vo, $2.00. 

These recollections cover an unusually long period of 
an unusually varied life, and reveal a rich tund of interesting 
reminiscences of eminent men and women, as well as of the 
events with which their names are associated. 


Sea and Land. 

Coast and Deep Sea Phenomena, with especial ref- 
erence to their Relation to the Life of Man. 
By Prof. N. S. Shaler. Ulus. 8vo, $2 50. 

Written in the author’s well-known, popular style, and 
fully illustrated from his own photographs of curi >us and sig- 
nificant phases of the realm of nature with which he deals. 


A SHELF OF OLD BOOKS. 

By Mrs. James T. Fields. Illustrated with Portraits. Autograph Fac-similes, etc. 8vo, $2.50. 

A volume of unique literary interest. The late James T. Fields left a library remarkable for its character and asso- 
ciations, and especially distingui>hed for its personal relics of eminent men of letters, including Scott, Leigh Hunt, Charles 
Lamb, Shelley, Keats, and others. Mrs. Fields presents here a sympathetic account of these treasures that will atiract not 
only book lovers but all interested in the personalities of literary men and women. 

Wild Beasts. The Bird’s Calendar. 


A Study of the Character and Habits of the Elephant, 
Lion, Panther, Leopard, Jaguar, Tiger, Puma, 
Wolf, and Grizzly Bear. By John Hampden 
Porter. Illustrated. Crown 8vo, $ 2.00 . 

Mr. Porter presents here, in a most interesting form, the 
results of actual experience and of special study of the ani- 
mals under discussion. 


By H. E. Parkhurst. With 24 Illustrations. 
i2mo, $1.50 net. 

The author describes with sympathy and enthusiasm 
the birds as they appear throughout the year in Central Park, 
the number and variety of which will surprise the general 
reader, for with this guide he will be able to identify every 
bird of importance. 

THE LIFE AND TIMES OF A. B. DURAND. 

By John Durand. Illustrated with Photogravures. Two Editions. On hand-made paper, 4to, 
limited to 100 copies, $17.50 net ; square 8vo, limited to 500 copies, $6.00 net. 

Mr. Durand’s life is an epitome of modern American art history, and this volume, in which his son has told the story 
of his father’s experiences and achievements, narrates not only the artist’s life, but, incidentally, the development of Ame- 
rican painting during the past half century. It is full of anecdote and reminiscences, and handsomely illustrated — mainly 
with reproductions of Mr. Durand’s paintings. 

Three Years of Arctic Service. 

An Account of the Lady Franklin Bay Expedition 
of 1881-84, and the Attainment of the Farthest 
North. By Gen. A. W. Greely. New Popu- 
lar Edition , fully illustrated. 8vo, $5.00. 

“ It is the most important work on Arctic matters that 
has been published in any country for many years .” — Boston 
Herald. 


Life of Charles Loring Brace. 

Chiefly Told in His Own Letters. Edited by his 
daughter. With Portraits. Cr. 8vo, $2.50. 

The great work accomplished by Mr Brace, particu- 
larly in the Newsboys’ Lodging Houses, gives to his biog- 
raphy a peculiar interest. It reveals his mental and spiritual 
as well as his external experience— his private life, and his 
views on moral and political questions. 


HISTORY OF THE UNITED STATES. 

By E. Benjamin Andrews, D.D., LL.D., President of Brown University. Two volumes. With 
Maps. Crown 8vo, $4.00. 

Among the many histories of the United States Dr. Andrews’s work will fill a unique position, being at the same time 
a genuine piece of literature and a comprehensive story of the whole growth of the country from the earliest times down to 
the present, in a form brief and easily to be grasped. 


Life and Letters of Erasmus. 

By James Anthony Froude. 8vo, $2.50. 

“ The volume is one of rare value, and must become a 
historical standard .” — Boston Advertiser. 

THE ODES 


Costume of Colonial Times. 

By Mrs. Alice Morse Earle. i2mo, $1.25. 

“ Lovers of old customs and costumes will find it a 
treasure of delight.” — N. V. Observer. 

OF HORACE. 


Translated by William E. Gladstone. 8vo, $1 50. 

J he difficulty of turning the Latin of Horace into corresponding terse, compact, epigrammatic, and at the same time 
poetical English has been mastered by Mr. (dadstone in a manner that will lecommend his volume to all lovers of the 
classics as an example of remarkably sympathetic and vigorous translation. 


William Shakspere. 

A Study of Elizabethan Literature. By Barrett 
Wendell. i2mo, $1 75. 

“ Not only useful for the student of Shakspere and the 
drama, but very interesting as well .” — Boston Times. 


Musicians and Music Lovers. 

And Other Essays. By W. F. Apthorp. $1.50. 

A collection of essays on various musical subjects by an 
author of recognized eminence in the musical world. 


CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS, 153-157 Fifth Ave., N. Y. 


20 



LIPPINCOTTS MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 


CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS’ NEW BOOKS. 


POMONA’S TRAVELS. BY FRANK R. STOCKTON. 

A Series of Letters to the Mistress of Rudder Grange from her Former Handmaiden. Fully illus- 
trated by A. B. Frost. i2mo, $2.00. 

Mr WWn?fn I h?« S nli!!!? h % 1 « 0< fti Mr ‘ St ° ckt °? has . ever written. It is capital reading, and will more firmlv establish 
Mr. Stockton in his place with Bret Harte among American writers. Mr. Frost’s pictures are admirable.”— -AO'. Times. 

Uniform with the above: Rudder Grange. With over 100 illustrations by A. B. Frost. 
I2mo > gdt top, $ 2.00 . The two volumes together, in a box, price, $4.00. 


TWO NEW BOOKS 
Polly: A Christmas Recollection. Illus- 
trated by A. CASTAIGNE. Small folio, Si. 50. 


“ In a companion volume to ‘ Marse Chan’ and ‘ Meh 
Lady' comes * Folly,’ another of Mr. Page’s delightful tales 
of Southern life. 1 he illustrations are very effective, and 
the volume is tastefully bound.” — Boston Times. 


BY THOMAS NELSON PAGE. 

The Burial of the Guns. i2mo, $1.25. 

Containing six stories, rich in pictures of old Virginia life 
and character. They are distinguished by humorous, pa- 
thetic, and dramatic touches, and are told with that simple, 
exquisite art that stamps Mr. Page as the finest exponent of 
the old and new South in fiction. 


HENRY KINGSLEY’S NOVELS. 

Ravenshoe, 2 vols. Austin Elliot, 1 vol. The Recollections of Geoffry Hamlyn, 2 vols. 

Five volumes in uniform style. Each i2mo, $1.00. The set in a box, $5.00. 

“ Lovers of fiction who are weary of reading, or trying to read, the novels of to-day, will welcome the project of 
Messrs. Charles Scribner’s Sons of giving them something better in a reprint of the novels of Henry Kingsley, whom so 
good a master of the art as Mr. James Payn lately told the world that he considered a better novelist than his brother 
Charles.” — R. H. Stoddard. 


John March, Southerner. By George W. 

Cable. i2mo, $1.50. 

Mr. Cable’s new novel displays his talents at their best. It 
is a remarkable picture of an old Southern town during the 
period of its industrial resurrection by means of a “boom.” 
The story is dramatic, full of humor, and presents with 
fidelity many interesting types of Southern character. 


Lord Ormont and his Aminta. By George 
Meredith. {Third Edition.) i2mo, $1.50. 

“ It is among Mr. Meredith’s very best novels : perhaps it 
is destined to be the most popular of all. Never has Mr. 
Meredith’s genius been more evident. It is artistic, dra- 
matic, absolutely original, and makes an ineffaceable im- 
pression on the mind.” — The Literary World. 


NEW BOOKS FOR THE YOUNG. 

PICCINO AND OTHER CHILD STORIES. 

By Mrs. Frances Hodgson Burnett. Illustrated by R. B. Birch. Square 8vo, $1.50. 

Mrs. Burton Harrison writes : “The history of Piccino's ‘two days’ is as delicate as one of the anemones that 
spring in the rock walls facing Piccino’s Mediterranean. A delightful volume, in fair print, and furthermore embellished 
by Mr. Birch's graceful and sympathetic drawings.” 

MRS. BURNETT’S FOUR FAMOUS JUVENILES. Each Illustrated by R. B. Birch. 


Little Saint Elizabeth and Other Stories. 

Square 8vo, $1.50. 

Giovanni and the Other. Children Who 
Have Made Stories. Square 8vo, 51 - 50 - 

THREE NEW BOOKS BY G. A. HENTY. 


Little Lord Fauntleroy. Square 8vo, 52.00. 
Sara Crewe ; or, What Happened at Miss 
flinchin’s. Square 8vo, 51.00. 


In the Heart of the Rockies. 

A Story of Colorado. 


When London Burned. A 

Story of Restoration Times. 


Wulf the Saxon. A Story 
of the Norman Conquest. 

Each volume, cr. 8vo, illustrated, and handsomely bound, $i.$o. 

“ They are as animated and descriptive as the Henty books always are, giving plenty of dependable facts at the same 
time that the narrative interest is well sustained .” — Philadelphia Press. , 

*** The above are Mr. Henty s latest books. A full descriptive lid, containing all of Mr. Henty s books— now 44. 
in number — will be sent to any address on application. They are all attractively illustrated and handsomely bound, 

OTHER NEW JUVENILES. 


The Butterfly Hunters in the Carribbees. 

By Dr. Eugene Murray-Aaron. With 8 full- 
page illustrations. Square 12010, $2.00. 

The Wagner Story Book. Firelight Tales 
of the Great Music Dramas. By W. H. Frost. 
Illustrated. 12010, 5 I - 5 °- 

Norseland Tales. By H. H. Boyesen. Illus- 
trated. i2mo, 5 I 2 5 * 

Things Will Take a Turn. By Beatrice 
Illustrated. 161110, $1.00. 


Czar and Sultan. The Adventures of a British 
Lad in the Russo-Turkish War of 1877-78. By 
Archibald Forbes. Illustrated. 12100, 52.00. 

To Greenland and the Pole. A Story of 
Adventure in the Arctic Regions. By Gordon 
S tables. Illustrated. i2mo, 51.50. 

Love Songs of Childhood. By Eugene 
Field i6mo, $1.00. 

Making of the Ohio Valley States. By Sam- 
uel Adams Drake. Illustrated. 12010, $1.50. 


Harraden. 

* * SCRIBNER’S ILLUSTRATED LIST OF BOOKS FOR THE YOUNG will be sent to any address. 

CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS, 153=157 Fifth Ave., N. Y. 


27 


LIPPINCOTTS MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 





Christmas 


Ready November 25th. 


cribner 


/ 

will be a sumptuous Holiday Number, having a special cover in two colors designed by 
Alfred Brennan. The number will be opened with three Jull-page pictures , practically 

Ghree fftonttspteces by A. B. Frost, Albert Lynch, 
Emile Friant. 


TCubparb Ifctplmcj contributes one of his most dramatic 
poems, entitled “ Me Andrew's Hymn.” 

George jfrebertef: Matts, the eminent English pai?it- 
er, is the subject of an article by Cosmo Monkhouse, il- 
lustrated by twenty - one reproductions from Watts's 
paintings and drawings. 

Gbe tlbatrtmontal Uontlne benefit Hssocta= 

tton. A Christmas Story by Robert Grant. Illustra- 
tions by A. B. Wenzell. 

a primer of Imaginary Geography, by Brander 

Matthews, with origmal and fantastic drawings by 
Oliver Herford, covering twelve pages. 

lb. G. JBunner co7itributes a sketch, “ The Story of a 
Path,” with sympathetic illustrations by A. B. Frost. 

pbtlip Gilbert Ibamertpn, concluding his selection of 
frontispieces, writes of Emile Friant, one of the bright- 
est painters of the modern French school. 

StOriCS by Walter L. Palmer, Francis Lynde, atid others. 

TTbe Moobcutter’s Ibut* A striking poem by Arch- 
ibald Lampman, illustrated by Frank French . 



GEORGE FREDERICK WATTS. 


SCRIBNER'S MAGAZINE IN 1895 

The constantly widening connection of Scribner's Magazine in both literary and artistic work 
will be drawn upon during the coming year in novel and stimulating directions , to make each issue rep- 
resent the highest type of a progressive and popular American Magazine. 

PARTIAL ANNOUNCEMENTS. 

THE HISTORY OF THE LAST QUARTER-CENTURY IN THE UNITED STATES 

"(1869-1895) will be an important feature extending over a number of months. It will give the 
only part of the history of this country that — in a broad sense — has not been written. To undertake 
'the preparation of this history the Magazine has been fortunate in securing President E. Benjamin 
Andrews, of Brown University, who unites the closest study of American history with the broad 
•grasp of a man of affairs. He possesses especially the fresh point of view and picturesque narrative 
which means everything in a work of this character. 

The story of events which occurred during the lifetime of the present generation is history which possesses the 
deepest significance to the reader of to-day. The past quarter-century has been of extraordinary import ; this narrative 
will lead many to realize for the first time its wonderful character and the part it has played in human affairs. In mate- 
rial prosperity and development these years have been unparalleled in the history of the "world, and in invention and sci- 
ence they have been not less fruitful. 

The conductors of the Magazine will make a feature of the illustration of the story, not only by documents, relics, 
and portraits, but by memorable scenes restored from absolutely authentic materials only, so that this pictorial portion 
may have equal historical value with the text. 



LIPPINCOTT'S magazine advertiser. 


SCRIBNER'S MAGAZINE ANNO UN CEMENT— 1895 — Contin ued. 


THE ART OF LIVING” will be another undertaking in quite a different field, by Robert 
Grant, in which he treats with a brightness, shrewdness, and delightful philosophy which readers 
of his Reflections of a Married Man” will find familiar, the questions which occupy perhaps most 
of the aveiage man s daily thought : the whole art of living, under modern conditions, for a family 
neither very rich nor very poor, but with the traditions and just expectations of educated, refined, 
self-supporting Americans of good breeding. The papers take up such subjects as : 

The Summer Problem, especially as it concerns the 
city family. 


The Income ; its extent, and how much shall be sacrificed 
for it. 

The Dwelling; shall it be in town or country? 

The Commissariat ; and the question of household ex- 
penditure. 

Education ; what shall be done with the children ? 

These articles will be illustrated in a peculiar and spirited fashion, differing perhaps from con- 
ventional illustration as much as Mr. Grant’s papers from heavy, economic essays. 


Married and Single Life; the conditions of each. 

The Case of Man and The Case of Woman, or 

these everyday things as looked at from his or her point 
of view. 


“ THE AMAZING MARRIAGE,” a serial novel by George Meredith, begins in January, 
and will still further extend the interest American readers feel in the work of the great novelist. 

“ THE STORY OF A PLAY ” will be a short novel by William D. Howells — the experi- 
ence of a young playwright, and one of Mr. Hoyvells’s most delightful pictures of New York life 
in a new field. 

“AMERICAN PARTY POLITICS.” A series of three articles by Noah Brooks, dealing 
with the history of party politics with the clearness, entertaining quality, and personal reminiscences 


of a man who has been for years a leading journalist and student of the subject, 
trated by a series of fine portraits. 


They will be illus- 


“ IN THE LAND OF DON QUIXOTE.” A series of three sketches by August F. JaC- 
Cad, following the wanderings of the immortal melancholy knight through the country of La Mancha. 
Illustrated by Daniel Vierge with a large number of his wonderful drawings in line — as rare a 
pleasure to lovers of the best illustration as they are likely to have from any source during the year. 

SINGLE ARTICLES IN GREAT VARIETY. No attempt will be made to give here a 
detailed announcement of the miscellaneous articles which will give permanent and lively interest to 
the numbers of the Magazine for 1895. By their varied suggestiveness and individuality they will 
maintain its traditions of excellence and of close interest in the activities of contemporary life. But 
among those to appear in early numbers may be especially mentioned ; 

Life at the Athletic Clubs, bv Duncan Edwards. Illustrated by C. D. Gibson. Country and Hunt 
Clubs, by Edward S. Martin. Illustrated. Old-Fashioned Gardens, by Mrs. Alice Morse Eari.e. Illustrated 
from the finest of our old gardens. The Portraits of J. M. W. Turner, by Cosmo Monkhouse. Coney Island, 
by Julian Ralph. Illustrated by Henry McCarter. Some Old College Letters, antedating the century. 
Country Roads, written and Illustrated by Frank French, the engraver. The Ascent of Ararat, by H. F. B. 
Lynch, with photographs taken on his journey. At the End of the Continent, an account of the southern extreme 
of South America, by John R. Spears, who has just returned from an important expedition there. 


Illustrated. 


IN THE JANUARY SCRIBNER, among other articles, will appear: 

The Salvation Army Work in the Slums, by Mrs. Maud Ballington Booth. A Tuscan Shrine, by 
Edith Wharton — an account of an important artistic discovery, with many beautiful illustrations. 

A SERIES OF ENGRAVED FRONTISPIECES will be contributed by the chief American 
wood-engravers, who have made the art famous everywhere, each being represented by a subject 
thoroughly characteristic of the engravers best manner. 

Subscription, $3.00 a Year 

CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS, Publishers 

153-157 Fifth Avenue, New York 



29 


LIPPiNCOTTS MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 




A Subscription to The Century Magazine. The leading feature of 

this great periodical for 1895 will be a Life of Napoleon written by Professor 
Sloane, of Princeton. It is the result of many years of study and research, 
verified by all the latest and best authorities. It will be fully illustrated at 
great expense with masterpieces of art. A new novel by Marion Crawford, 
one by Mrs. Burton Harrison, papers on Washington in Lincoln’s Time by 
Noah Brooks, stories by all the leading writers, are among the features 
of the coming volume. The subscription price is $4.00, and it is a monthly 
reminder of the donor for a whole year. New subscriptions should begin 
with November. Do not miss the Christinas number, richly illustrated and con- 
taining Rudyard Kipling's first American story, “ A Walking Delegate." 

A Subscription to St. Nicholas. This unrivaled magazine 

for young folks has just closed its most successful year. While their elders 
are reading Professor Sloane’s Life of Napoleon in The Century, young 
folks are to have a delightful story-life of the great Emperor entitled "A Boy 
of the First Empire,” by Elbridge S. Brooks. More of Rudyard Kipling's 
famous Jungle Stories are coming ; Brander Matthews will contribute papers 
on “ Great American Writers ” ; Theodore Roosevelt will write “ Hero-Tales 
of American History”; there will be illustrated articles on West Point and 
Life on a Man-of-War, with papers on City Fire Departments, the Boys’ Brigade, etc. Five 
serial stories by well-known writers will be among the contents, and more Brownies by Palmer Cox. 
Everything is illustrated. A subscription costs $3.00, and the publishers will send a beautifully printed 
certificate to those who wish to use the magazine as a Christmas present. Begin with November. 

The Century Dictionury. A gift that will be most welcome to any one. The great 
standard encyclopedic dictionary of the English-speaking world, without a rival in its special field. 
Used in the courts, by scientists, in newspaper offices, and in thousands of homes. Now made com- 
plete by the issue of The Century Cyclopedia of Names, a supplemental volume. Send 10 cents for 
the richly illustrated pamphlet describing it, with specimen pages. Sold only by subscription, — on the 
instalment plan if desired, the purchaser having the use of the entire work at once. 

The Century Cyclopedia of Names, complete m itself, a pronouncing 

and defining dictionary of proper names in geography, biography, mythology, fiction, art, archaeology, 
history, etc. In one magnificent volume of 1100 pages, containing for the first time in one volume all 
the varieties of information which we have heretofore found in biographical dictionaries, geographical 
gazetteers, dictionaries of archaeology, etc. Sold only by subscription ; address the publishers. 

Books Of Travel. Across Asia on a Bicycle. The story of the remarkable trip of two young 
American students. Richly illustrated, cloth, $1.50. The Mountains of California, by John Muir, the Cali- 
fornia naturalist, of whom Emerson said, “He is more wonderful than Thoreau.” Illustrated, cloth, $1.50. 

EdWlfl BOOth. Recollections by his daughter, Edwina Booth Grossmann, 
with Mr. Booth’s letters to her and to his friends, giving a delightful glimpse of 
the great actor. Illustrated with photogravure reproductions of portraits. Oc- 
tavo, 300 pages, cloth, $3.00. Limited edition, 100 copies, octavo, on Holland 
paper, $12.50; Edition de Luxe, 50 copies, quarto, on Whatman paper, $25.00. 

Other Books of Biography. T heRe i!r „of Queen Anne. De. 

lightfully written papers by Mrs. Oliphant describing famous people of the days 
of Queen Anne, including Dean Swift, Defoe and Addison. Full-page pictures 
printed in two colors. Magnificently bound, $6.00. The Autobiography of 
Joseph Jefferson ($4.00), one of the most notable books of our generation, its il- 
lustrations making it a portrait gallery of the American stage. The Autobiography of Tontmaso Salvini 
($1.50). The Women of the French Salons. A superb volume by Amelia Gere Mason. Richly illus- 
trated and printed in two colors, $6.00. 

Poetry. Five Books of Song, by Richard Watson Gilder. A complete collection of Mr. Gilder’s 
poems. Illustrated, 240 pages, cloth, $1.50. Poems Here at Home, by James Whitcomb Riley (20th 
thousand), containing the best work of one of the most popular of poets. Cloth, $1.50 ; vellum, $2.50. 

Art Books. English Cathedrals, by Mrs. Schuyler Van Rensselaer. In handsome binding, 
$6.00. The same issued in the form of a handbook for tourists, cloth, $2.50; leather, $300. Old 
Italian Masters. Timothy Cole’s collection of sixty-seven engravings, with text by W. J. Stillman, 
$10.00. A few copies of the magnificent Portfolio of Proofs left,— 125 issued,— $175 each. The Cen- 
tury Gallery. Sixty-four of the best engravings in The Century and St. Nicholas, $10 00. 


80 


IIPPINCOTT'S MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 



Christmas Suggestions. 


New Novels. When t . w , 

Dr. S. Weir MitchelLfuU of ^ afe G t reen ‘ 4 romance of primeval Canadian forests by 

frvmfwaes I =mo cio t lt $pr POrary SOC ‘ et ' V ^ ^ BUr '° n Harrison ' -Hushed V 

Small Books in Exquisite Bindings , 

bv George Wharton Frlw^rric at • i ® * P t't Matinic’ and Other Monotones, 

tratedby tSieSSt-r u «ior ^ FnlKhS^ 1 ^ ° { u st ? nes °. f life on the Nova Scotia coast, illus- 

iraiea oy me artist author. bull sheep binding, with rich design m embossed cold Si 2c Writing tn 

?T on*' Th^Snh w!» e, i H 011 ? 7 Bisho P- With illustrations. Bound in ’full" stamped sheep 

Thumb-Nail Sketches. Quaint stories of adventure by George Wharton Edwards. Richfv 
illustrated. In stamped sheep binding, $1.00. The Love of the World. A remarkable little book of 
religious essays by Mary Emily Case. In beautiful binding, $1.00. artcaDie little book of 

Lovers of History. The complete Works of Abraham Lincoln. A collection 
of the miscellaneous writings, letters, and state papers of the great war president ; edited by Messrs 

a K C ° h y an | d - Ha y ’ 1! l h? y olumes > octavo, 700 pages each , from $10.00 to $15.00, according to binding-’ 
Abraham Lincoln: A History, by Messrs. Nicolay and Hay, private secretaries to th e g president — 
more than a life of Lincoln : a history of his times and of the Civil War. Sold only by subscription 
Battles and Leaders of the Civil War. The famous Century War Book, written' bv Gram and 
scores of great generals on both sides ; containing 1700 illustrations. Sold only by subscription. 


for Bop3 ani> (Sirls. 


TheCenturyBook 

• FOR 



UHESTORYOfl l 

ESMBD 

BY P- 

ELBR 1 DGE 5 BROOKS 


Rudyard Kipling’s Jungle Book. 0m 

successes of the season. “Rudyard Kipling’s best bid for immortal- 
ity,” says the Sunday-School Times. “ Nothing about animals has 
been written to compare with it since ^Esop’s Fables,” writes Mr. 

Charles Dudley Warner. In beautiful binding, with numerous illus- 
trations, $1.50. 

The Century Book for Young Americans. 

The Story of the Government, by Elbridge S. Brooks, describing 
in attractive story-form the visit of a party of bright young people to 
Washington, who, beginning with the Constitution, investigate thor- 
oughly the government of the United States; combining a capital story- 
book with the helpfulness of a history. Illustrated with over 200 engrav- 
ings. Issued under the auspices of the National Society of the Sons 
of the American Revolution, with introduction by General Horace 
Porter. 250 pages, rich and substantial binding, $1.50. 

Books by Mary Mapes Dodge. The Land of Pluck. Stories and sketches for 

young folk about Holland, with some on other subjects. Richly illustrated by Edwards, Kemble and 
other artists, $1.50. When Life is Young. A collection of verses for boys and girls, including a great 
number of the most popular poems and rhymes by Mrs. Dodge that have appeared in St. Nicholas. 
Illustrated, $1.25. Donald and Dorothy. A new edition of this famous story that has delighted 
thousands of boys and girls. Illustrated, $1.50. 

OthCl* Books for Boys cUld Girls. Imaginotions. “Truthless Tales,” by Tudor 
Jenks, one of the most popular story-writers of St. Nicholas. Richly illustrated, $1.50. Topsys 
and Turvys Number 2, by Peter Newell. A most surprising picture-book for young folks, containing 
twice as much material as was in the original Topsy Turvy Book ($1.00). The Man who Married the 
Moon, by Charles F. Lummis. Folk-stories of the Pueblo Indians of New Mexico. Instructive and 
entertaining. Illustrated, $1.50. Some Strange Corners of Our Country, by the same author. A 
book that every boy and girl in America should read ($1.50). A New Brownie Book, “ The Brownies 

‘ Around the World,” by Palmer Cox, with new poems and pictures. More than a hundred thousand 
of these famous Brownie Books have been sold ($1.50). Artful Anticks. Humorous verse for young 


St. Nicholas. The twelve numbers of the past year, containing more than a thousand pages and as 
many pictures, in two handsomely bound volumes ($4.00). Walter Camp’s Book of College Sports. 
An expert's ideas on foot-ball, base-ball, etc. Illustrated, $1.75. 

Send to The Century Co ., Union Square , New York, for complete catalogue. Ask to see The 
Century Co. 's books at the stores. Sold everywhere , or copies sent post-paid by the publishers. 


yi 


31 


LIPPINCOTTS MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 


MACMILLAN S CO.’S NEW ILLUSTRATED 

AND POPULAR HOLIDAY BOOKS. 


WITH NUMEROUS ILLUSTRATIONS. BY THE VEN. ARCHDEACON FARRAR. 

THE LIFE OF CHRI5T AS REPRESENTED IN ART. 

By Frederic W. Farrar, D.D., F R.S., Archdeacon and Canon of Westminster, author of “The Life of Christ,” 
44 Seekers after God,” etc. With numerous Illustrations and Frontispiece. 8vo, cloth gilt, gilt top, $6.00. 


William Winter's New Book. 

Life and Art of Joseph Jefferson. 

Together with some Account of his Ancestry, and of 
the Jefferson Family of Actors. By William Win- 
ter, author of “The Life and Art of Edwin Booth.” 

With 16 Illustrations, including his Latest Photo- 
graphs, also several Portraits in Character. Crown 
8vo, cloth, gilt top. Price, $2.25. 

Also an edition printed throughout on English hand- 
made plate-paper. Limited to 200 copies. Price, in 
box, $6.00, net. 

TRANSLATION OF PROF. ERMAN'S IMPORTANT WORE. COPIOUSLY ILLUSTRATED. 

LIFE IN ANCIENT EGYPT. 

Described by Adolph Erman. Translated by H. M. Tirard. With 400 Illustrations and 12 Plates. Super- 
royal 8vo, cloth gilt, gilt top, $6.00. 

“A skilful translation of a well-known and esteemed German work which treats of Egyptian antiquities in 
the light of modern discoveries, and thereby supplies a recognized English want .” — Times {London). 


A Sumptuous Art Work. Profusely Illustrated. 

Pen Drawing and Pen Draughtsmen. 

Their Work and Methods. A Study of the Art of To- 
day, with Technical Suggestions. By Joseph Pen- 
nell. New and enlarged edition. 

With over 400 Illustrations, including examples from 
the best works of Spanish, Italian, French, German, 
English, and American artists. 4to, bound in buckram. 
Price, $15.00. 


New Book by Sir John Lubbock. 

The Use of Life. 

By the Rt. Hon. Sir John Lubbock, Bart., M.P., au- 
thor of “ The Beauties of Nature,” “ The Pleasures 
of Life,” etc. Crown 8vo, cloth, gilt top, $1.25. 


By the Editor of "Boswell.” 

Harvard College by an Oxonian. 

By George Birkbeck Hill, D.C.L., Pembroke Col- 
lege, Oxford ; editor of “ Boswell’s Life of Johnson,” 
author of “Writers and Readers,” etc. With Illus- 
trations. Crown 8vo. 


New Volumes in the Popular Series of Books Illustrated by Hugh Thomson, C. B. Brock, and others. 


MR. F. MARION CRAWFORD'S NEW NOVEL. 


LOVE IN IDLENESS. 

A Tale of Bar Harbour. By F. Marion Crawford, author of “ Katharine Lauderdale,” “ Saracinesca,” 44 A Ro- 
man Singer,” etc., etc. With Illustrations reproduced from drawings and photographs. In one volume, 
crown 8vo, cloth gilt, gilt edges. Price. $2.00. 

ILLUSTRATED BY HUGH THOMSON. 


Old English Songs from Various Sources. 

With Illustrations by Hugh Thomson and an Intro- 
duction by Austin Dobson. Crown 8vo, gilt, or edges 
uncut. $2.00. 

*** Also an Edition de Luxe, limited, super-royal 8vo, 
printed on hand-made paper, bound in buckram. 


Pride and. Prejudice. 

By Jane Austen. With 90 Illustrations by Hugh 
Thomson. Crown 8vo, cloth gilt, or edges uncut, 
uniform with “ Cranford,” “ Our Village,” etc. $2.25. 
*** Also an Edition de Luxe, limited, on hand-made 
paper, super-royal 8vo. $18.00, net. 


THE POETICAL WORKS OF ROBERT BROWNING. 


New and Complete Edition of the Works of Robert Browning, in nine volumes, crown 8vo. In addition to the 
matter heretofore included in the sixteen-volume edition, this contains “ Asolaudo,” together with Historical 
Notes to the Poems, making for the first time a Complete Definitive Edition of the poet’s works. Price, each 
volume, $2.25. The set, 9 vols., in box, $20.00. 


Miss Fielde's New Book , with Illustrations in Color. 

A Corner of Cathay. 

Studies from Life Among the Chinese. By Adele 
M. Fielde, author of “Chinese Nights’ Entertain- 
ments.” With Colored Plates, reproduced from orig- 
inal pictures by artists in the celebrated School of Go 
Leng at Swatow, China. Small 4to, cloth gilt, gilt 
top, $3.00. 


A Handsome Gift-Book. 

Raphael’s Madonnas and other Great 
Pictures. 

Reproduced from the original paintings. With a Life 
of Raphael, and an account of his chief works. By 
Karl Karoly. author of “ A Guide to the Paintings 
of Florence.” In one volume, with 53 Illustrations, 
including 9 Photogravures. Small Colombier 8vo, iu 
special binding designed by Gleeson White. Gilt 
top, $8.00. 


NEW BOOKS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE. 

MRS. MOLES WORTH’S NEW STORY. 

MY NEW HOME. 


By Mrs. Molesworth, author of “Four Winds Farm,” 
Leslie Brooke. i2mo, cloth, $1.00. 

In the Lion’s Mouth. 

The Story of Two English Children in France, 1789-93. 

By Elkanor C. Price, author of “The Foreigners,” 

“ Gerald,” “ Valentina,” etc. i2mo, decorative cloth, 
$1.50. 


“ Tell Me a Story,” etc., etc. With Illustrations by L. 

Tales of the Punjab, told by the People. 

By Mrs. Steel, author of “ The Flower of Forgive- 
ness, and Other Stories,” “Miss Stuart’s Legacv,” 
etc. Illustrated by John Lockwood Kipling, author 
of “ Man and Beast in India.” Crown 8vo. 


MACMILLAN & COMPANY, 66 Fifth Avenue, New York. 

32 


LIPPINCOTT'S magazine advertiser. 


Houghton, Mifflin and Company’s 


HOLIDAY BOOKS. 


THEIR WEDDING JOURNEY. 

By w. D. . Howells. Holiday Edition. With over 80 illustrations, many full-page, by Clifford Carle- 
ton. Artistically bound, with cover slip, after designs by Mrs. Henry Whitman. Crown 8vo, $3.00. 

THE LAST LEAF. 

By Oliver Wendell Holmes. New Holiday Edition. With a touching Prefatory Note by Dr. 
Holmes, reproduced in fac-simile of his handwriting. Illustrated from designs by F. Hopkinson Smith 
and George Wharton Edwards. Crown 8 vo, tastefully bou d, #1.50. 

THE RUBAIYAT OF OMAR KHAYyXm. 


In the wonderful translation by Edward Fitzgerald. With a Biography bv Omar KhayvAm and a 
Biographical Sketch of Mr. Fitzgerald. With 56 superb illustrations by Elihu Vedder. Popular Edition 
Crown 8vo, $5 00. 


THE STORY OF A BAD BOY. 

By Ihomas Bailey Aldrich. A Holiday Edition of this famous story. With numerous admirable 
illustrations by A. B. Frost. Crown 8vo, finely printed and bound in unique style, $2.00. 

TIMOTHY’S QUEST. 

By Kate Douglas WlGGIN, author of “The Birds Christmas Carol,’’ etc. A Holiday Edition of one 
of Mrs. Wiggins most popular stories. With many illustrations by Oliver Herford. Crown 8vo, bound 
in attractive style, $1.50. 

LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER, AND HIS QUEER COUNTRY. 

A delightful book for young and old. By. Joel Chandler Harris, author of “ Uncle Remus and his 
Friends,” “ Nights with Uncle Remus,” etc. With 32 artistic and extremely interesting pictures by Oliver 
Herford. Crown 8vo, $2 00. 


NEW STORIES. 


THE STORY OF LAWRENCE GARTHE. 

A very fresh and engaging novel of New York 
life, though not a society novel. By Ellen 
Olney Kirk, author of “The Story of Marga- 
ret Kent,” “A Daughter of Eve,” “ Walford,” 
“ Ciphers,” etc. i6mo, $1.23. 

DANVIS FOLKS. 

A very readable story of Vermont life and cus- 
toms including stories of hunting, fishing, and 
“bees,” with both Yankee and French Canadian 
dialects, and no little humor. By Rowland E. 
ROBINSON, author of “ Vermont,” in the Ameri- 
can Commonwealths Series. i6mo, $1.25. 

THE BELL-RINGERS OF ANGEL’S, 

and Other Stories. A new volume of Bret 
HaktES inimitable stories, of which there is 
always a demand for more. i6mo, $1.25. 

THREE BOYS IN AN ELECTRICAL 

BOAT. A thoroughly interest ng and exciting 
story of the adventures of three boys, who saw 
and heard and took part in a multitude of inci- 
dents, and learned a great deal, practically, of the 
wonders of electricity. By JOHN TROWBRIDGE, 
Professor in Harvard University, and author of 
“ The Electrical Boy ” i6mo, $1 00. 

WHEN MOLLY WAS SIX. 

A delightful book of twelve stories, simple, natu- 
ral, engaging, and of charming literary quality. 
By Eliza Orne White, author of “Winter- 
borough.” With illustrations by KATHARINE 
PYLE. An exquisite holiday book. Square i6mo. 


POETRY. 

UNGUARDED GATES, and Other Poems. 

By T. B. Aldrich. Crown 8vo, gilt top, $1 25. 
A beautiful book, containing the poems written 
by Mr. ALDRICH in the last six years. 

WHITTIER’S POETICAL WORKS. 

Complete in a new Cambridge Edition. Printed 
from wholly new plates, large type, on opaque 
paper. With a Biographical Sketch, Notes, In- 
dex to Titles and First Lines, a Portrait, and an 
Engraving of Whittier’s Amrsbury home. Uni- 
form with the Cambridge Longfellow. Crown 
8vo, gilt top. $ 2.00 ; half calf, gilt top, $3.50; 
tree calf, or full levant, $5.50. 

WHITTIER’S POETICAL WORKS. 

New Handy-volume Edition. In lour beautiful 
volumes. Wiih four Portraits and a View of 
Whittier's Oak Knoll home. Uniform with the 
Handy-volume Longfellow. 4 vols. i6mo, $5 00. 

A CENTURY OF CHARADES. 

A hundred original charades. By William 
Bellamy. They are very ingenious in concep- 
tion, are worked out with remarkable skill, and 
are— many of them — genuinely poetical. i6mo, 
$1.00. 


FAGOTS FOR THE FIRESIDE. 

Onv hundred and fifty games. By LUCRETIA P. 
Hale. New and enlarged edition of a capital 
book, including in the new matter instructions 
for Golf. i2mo, $1 25. 


*** For sale by all Booksellers. Sent, postpaid, on receipt of price, by 

HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO., Boston. 

33 


LIPPINCOTT'S MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 


SOME NOTABLE BOOKS 


OF THE SEASON. 


HYPATIA ; 

Or, New Foes with an Old Face. By Charles Kingsley. Illustrated from Drawings by William 
Martin Johnson, and with Portrait of the Author. Two Volumes. 8vo, Ornamental Silk Bind- 
ing, Uncut Edges and Gilt Top, $7. 00. (In a Box.) 


“ Harper’s Young People” for 1894. 

Volume XV. With about 800 Illustrations and 888 
Pages. 4to, Cloth, Ornamental, $3.50. 

Wimples and Crisping Pins. 

Studies in the Coiffure and Ornaments of Women. 
By Theodore Child, Author of “ Art and 
Criticism,” etc. Crown 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, 
Uncut Edges and Gilt Top, $2.00. 


Portraits in Plaster. 

From the Collection of Lawrence Hutton. With 
72 Illustrations. Large Paper, 8vo, Cloth, Or- 
namental, Uncut Edges and Gilt Top, $6.00. 

Twilight Land. 

Written and Illustrated by Howard Pyle, Author 
of “ The Wonder Clock,” “ Pepper and Salt,” 
“Men of Iron,” etc. 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, 

$2.50. 


THE GOLDEN HOUSE. 


A Story. By Charles Dudley Warner, Author of “A Little Journey in the World,” etc. Illus- 
trated by W. T. Smedley. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $2.00. 


Wealth Against Commonwealth. 

By Henry Demarest Lloyd. 8vo, Cloth, $2.50. 

The White Company. 

By A. Conan Doyle. New Illustrated Edition, 
Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental. 

A Sporting Pilgrimage. 

By Caspar W. Whitney. Copiously Illustrated. 
8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $3.50. 

Literary and Social Essays. 

By George William Curtis. One Volume, 
Crown 8vo, Cloth, Uncut Edges and Gilt Top, 
#2.50. 


Thomas Barclay. 

Selections from the Correspondence of Thomas 
Barclay, formerly British Consul-General at 
New York. Edited by George Lockhart 
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masterpieces of verse and 
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« LIGHT OH THE BIBLE AND THE HOLV LAND. 


Being an account of Some Recent Discoveries in the East. By Basil T. A. Evetts, M.A., formerly of 
the Assyrian Department, British Museum. Illustrated. 8vo, cloth, $3.00. 

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How Produced and How Used. By R. Mulli- 
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EDGAR ALLAN POE. 

Newly Collected, Edited, and, for the first time. Revised after the Author’s final Manuscript Corrections, by 

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WHEN HEARTS ARE TRUMPS. 

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SONNETS AND OTHER POEMS. 

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BY ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON and LLOYD 
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PIERRE AND HIS PEOPLE. 

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39 



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43 


IIP PIN CO TTS MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 


Little, Brown & Co.’s 

neaaz; books, 


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45 


LIPPINCOTT'S MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 


Worcester’s Unabridged 

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page plates. 

Worcester’s Dictionary is the Standard Authority on all questions of 
Orthography, Pronunciation, or Definition, and is so recognized by all the 
colleges of the country, by the principal newspapers and periodicals, by 
such leaders of American thought as Phillips Brooks, Edward Everett 
Hale, George Bancroft, Oliver Wendell Holmes, Irving, Marsh, Agassiz, 
Henry, etc., and has been publicly recommended as the standard authority 
by the leading newspapers of England and America. Leading book- 
publishers recognize Worcester as the highest authority, and millions of 
school-books are issued every year with this great work as the standard. 


TESTIMONIALS. 

“The new and authentic etymologies, the conciseness and completeness of the defi. 
nitions, the nicety with which the different shades of meaning in synonymes are dis- 
tinguished, and the conscientious accuracy of the work in all its departments, give it, 
in my judgment, the highest claims to public favor.” — W ieeiam Cueeen Bryant. 

“I am a thorough believer in Worcester’s system of orthography , and I consider 
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work.” — Hon. T. B. Aedrich, Author. Editor Atlantic Monthly. 

“I lose no opportunity of saying that I find Worcester’s large Dictionary the most 
convenient for use, and by far the best authority known to me as to the present use of 
the English language.” — Edward Everett HaeE. 

“On questions of orthography I shall make it (Worcester) my standard.” — Hon. 
George Bancroft. 


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46 


LIPPINCOTT'S magazine advertiser. 


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47 


LIP PIN CO TT ' S MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 


A. Weekly Feast to Nourish Hungry Minds.— N. Y. Evangelist. 


Littell’s Living Age. 


Over half a century has passed since its first number appeared, and 
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OBSERVE! The Living Age is a Weekly Magazine giving 
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A NEW SERIES was begun with the first number of its 200th Volume, January 1st, 1894. With 
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1844-1895 



Rt. Hon.W. E. GLADSTONE. Prof. HUXLEY.F.R S. Gen’l Sir ARCH’LD ALISON, G.C.B. 


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With the steady improvement in all lines of trade and commerce, and increased confidence in 
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48 


LIP PI X CO TT'S MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 



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49 



LIPPINCOTT’S MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 


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LIPPINCOTT'S MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 



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LIPPINCOTT'S MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 


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flow to Plan and Build them. 

“the Myers Houses.” 

A book showing houses 
of all styles and prices. 
$800 to 87500. Many cheap 
ones. Floor-plans, exterior 
views, and full description 
of each design. Pages, 10 x 
12. Book, by mail, 81.00. 
GEO. W. MYERS, Architect, 

3-4 Moffat Block. Detroit, Mich. 



i2L PJ- 


First Invented, f 
First in Merit, 

First in the Homes 

THREE of our Countrymen. 

POINTS 

every householder has a right to expect in 
his shade rollers : 

1. EASY TO PUT UP. 

2. RUN SMOOTHLY. 

3. LAST LONG. 

If he doesn’t get such a roller whose fault 
is it ? His own, because lie doesn’t insist 
upon having the genuine 


Hartshorn Self=Acting 


Shade Rollers. 



The genuine bear 
autograph of 
Stewart Harts- 
horn on label. 




Venetian iron Hall Lantern, 

20 INCHE8 HIGH AND 7 INCHE8 SQUARE. w 

.With Bracket Hook and Lamp. 

“Opalescent 

Soft Hued 

Radiance.” 

x.p-p. 

Express prepaid to 
any express office in 
the United States. 

Remit by 
Draft or 
Money 
Order. 

We also sell the 
Tools and Mate- 
rials to make this 
work yourself- 



More Designs. 

Our Bookl3t 

Venetian Iron 
for a Stamp. 

A. TJ.Weed&Co. 

106-8 LIBERTY ST 

NEW YORK. 


659 



A CHRISTMAS PRESENT 

is what you will soon be looking for. We make s poc i 
knives, razors, shoe button ers, etc., with tianspar 
handles. Underneath it can be placed name, photo of 
vmirself or celebrities. Useful and ornamental Write 
for Hrcidn^ AGENTS W VNTF.D everywhere. 
NOVELTY CUTLERY C O.. Box 197, Cant on, Ohlo^ 


WATCHMAKING TAUGHT FREE. 

Under the direction of expert instructors. Easily 
learned and a rapid road to the highest wages. 
Circulars and full information free to any ad- 
dress. COLUMBUS WATCH REPAIRERS’ 
SCHOOL. COLUMBUS, OHIO. _ 


57 



WITH THE WITS. 



WHAT IT IS COMING TO. 


Bill “Say, George, ain’t you afraid to trust yourself on such a light-weight 
safety?” 

George. — “No, indeed ! Just hold her a minute, and I’ll show you. 


58 


LIPPINCO TT'S MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 


ECONOMY AND HEALTH. 

Three costly things in housekeeping: 1, Butter. 2. Beefsteak. 3. Experience. 

T HIS young housekeeper is saving the first two and 
is acquiring the last at the least possible cost. 
Beefsteak is a. staple food, but as ordinarily 
treated much of it is wasted. Some of it is too 
fat, some too lean ; a little of it is tender and a 
great deal of it tough. What is the remedy? Cut it 
fine, and make it into Hamburger steak.* You can 
then broil it; the juicy parts flavor the dry parts, the 
fat and lean are mixed to the advantage of both, and 
your steak can all be eaten, and will be found both 
nutritious and delicious. For cutting it no machine 
is equal to the Triumph Meat Cutter, because, 1st. 
It is simple, easily cleaned, no strings to pick out of 
blades, no meat to punch out of holes ; but drop three 
parts into hot water, rinse them, and the whole 
machineisclean.readytoputaway. 2d. Itisahardy 
machine; never gets ‘dull and is not easily broken. 
Any servant girl can be taught to put it together and 
use it in two minutes. Some housekeepers reject meat 
cutters because they do not make good hash. It is 
true that no machine will leave boiled potatoes in 
pieces, only the old-fashioned chopping knife will do 
that. But for chopping steak, minced pie meat, etc., 
the Triumph Meat Cutter leads the world. Every 
housekeeper should have one. 

TRIUMPH RECEIPTS. 
Hamburger Steak.— Cut your steak into strips and 
run it through a Triumph Meat Cutter. Mix thoroughly 
and season with salt and pepper to taste. If you like 
onion seasoning, put an onion through the cutter with 
the meat. Flatten the chopped meat to about the 
thickness of ordinary steak and broil quickly over a 
bright fire. Put a few bits of butter over it and serve 
while hot. 

Creamed Croquettes.— Chop your beef thor- 
oughly in a Triumph Meat Cutter, adding a little suet, 
and season to taste. It is a little more delicate if run 
through the cutter a second time after seasoning. 
Make the meat up into oval balls about the size of a 
hen’s egg and flatten them out. Fry briskly in a little 
pork fat to a light brown. When done lay out the 
croquettes on a platter and pour off nearly all the 
pork fat, then pour into the spider cream enough to 
make a suitable quantity of gravy. Scald the cream 
and pork fat together, stirring a little, and when thor- 
oughly mixed pour over the croquettes and serve. 



Ask your dealer _fnr «he.Tr,um^N«.^«5._I t be ft » bj 


express prepaid. 


THE PECK, STOW & WILCOX CO., Southington, Conn., or 27 Chambers St 


lELY’S CREAM BALM CURES 


COLD'kHEAD 


I PRICE. 50 CENTS. ALL DRUGGISTS 



F d c A I TTV ALL W0MEN 

OR DtirVU 1 I DESIRE BEAUTY 


And all may be 

Lovely by using 


Fould’s Arsenic 
Complexion Soap 

WHICH BEAUTIFIES AND PRESERVES. MAKES 
THE SKIN CLEAR, SOFT. TRANSPARENT AND RE- 
MOVES PIMPLES, FRECKLES. TAN, AND ALL OTHER 
BLEMISHES. SOAP BY MAIL, 50 cents. Address H. 
B. FOUL.D, 218 titli Ave., N. Y. Also at all. 
first-class drug stores. 

SPECIAL.— When ordering, mention Ltppincott'3 Maga- 
zine and receive Free a Genuine Sterling Silver Coffee Spoon. 


bare 
limbs 


impossible if you use 
the EUREKA BED 
CLOTHES FASTEN- 
ER. Infants and in- 
valids easily kept cov- 
ered; no colds, no 
anxiety ; comfortable. 
Don’t tear clothes. 
50cents postpaid. In- 
ducements to Agents. 
Quick seller. Illus- 
trated circular free. 


J. C. Dewey, 
P. O. Box 2816, 
New York. 




SEE THE CHRISTY EDGE 4®“ . hi h makes them the best cutting knives ever 

Ask your dealer to show r you the ; Christy Knives. tr ^7heyTre^o C ncr a d^tV ’Make carvtnga pleasure. Cut new bread as thin 

' chVistt knif/ - 


5 without crurnDS, meat ^ — — ■ — — 

theIhammond stands alone, 


Possesses all 


“type-bar" advantages, besides many of its own 


Send for particulars. 


The HAMMOND TYPEWRITER CO., 403-405 E. 62d St., New York. 

69 


WITH THE WITS. 





“See, you just take your air-pump and 


60 


LIPPINCO TT'S MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 


LADIES 

PERFECT FITTING BOOTS, 

Made exclusively by us. 
Single Pairs at Wholesale Prices. 
Best Yici Kid, latest styles 
High Grade Fhoes, 

-£■11 sizes and widths. 
Styles No. 1 or 2 by mail 
on receipt of 


$ 1 . 47 . 



I8H Foot Warmers. 

For Warmth, Comfort, Durability. 

An Ideal indoor shoe. Made of felt, completely 
lined with lamb’s wool, quilted by hand, 
leather soles, strong but pliable. Noiseless. 

Mailed, postpaid. Ladies’ size, $1.25. 


Men’s size, $1.60 

The Blum Shoe Co 

Manufacturers, 

DANSVILLE, N. Y. 




on worthless bindings 
I’ll use the 


^ 1 


after this.*' 


Tpfi Bi<is 
Velveteen 
Skirt Binding 

Accept no substitute. 


S. H. & M.” Dress Stays are the Best. 


Indelible and Reliable • • • No Hot Irons • • • No Exposure to Fire* 

MELANYL 

The New English Indelible Marking Ink. 

Melanyl assumes on the fabric a most intense Jet Black Color after washing, 

and is absolutely indelible. Ask your Stationer or Druggist for it. 

Sample bottle mailed I R I IPPINCOTT COMPANY. Phllndelnh in. P«. 


on receipt of 25 cents. 



$1.00 buys $2.00 worth of Perfumes. For one dol- 
lar we send in handsome box, express paid, any 3 
one-ounce bottles you may select from this list of 
odors : American Beauty, Carnation Pink, Crab Ap- 
ple Blossom, Jasmine, Jockey Club, Jacque Rose, 
Lily of the Valley, Rose Geranium, Stephanotis, 
White Lilac, White Rose, White Heliotrope, Wood 
Violet, Ylang Ylang. Just the thing for Christmas. 

The Ev-i-!o Co., Perfumers, 358 Dearborn St,, Chicago, 

rnrr A valuable book entitled “Secrets 
rlsPr of the Toilet,” containing new 
I IlLL receipts, sent Free, explaining a 
new method of easily producing an 
TO exquisite complexion without paint, 

* powders, or poisonous compounds; 

I An TQ rational method of curing all skin dis- 
LMUILu eases, improving the form, etc. Many 
kravikw j a( jj es ma d e beautiful by following 

11 III If directions contained in this book. 
It B In I JS A^rlrpss with 9-ppnt stfi.mn. RnrrlaaiiY 

RE BRILLIANT AND EMINENT ! SSSSg" 

U The new physiological discovery— Memory 
Restorative Tablets quickly and permanently 
increase the memory two to ten fold, and greatly 
augment intellectual power; difficult studies, etc., 
easily mastered ; truly marvellous, highly endorsed. 
Price, 81.00, postpaid. Send for circular. 

MEMORY TABLET CO., 

114 5th Avenue, New York. 


■■ 1 ■ toilet Co,, 132 Boylston St , Boston, Mass, 

11 m ion rn rill try what 10 cents 

WONDERFUL kssj?- .KAivr.?: 

New York, WILL BRING. 

■ # ■■■ Is unequalled for Cure 

SrflHDlftfilfP of Rough Skin, Eczema, 
ft UHWItMItC gore Lips, Cold In Head, 
1% Chapped Hands, etc. 15 cents a box. 
Sold by all Druggists. 


61 


LIPPINCOTT'S MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 




up to Date 




Chambers’ s Encyclopedia 


Complete in Ten Volumes. 


No literary man, no literary home, no library, can afford to be with- 
out it. It is twenty years later than any similar work, and consequently 
embraces a large amount of recent information found in no other ency- 
clopaedia. 

The leading men of letters/scientists, statesmen, artists, authors, 
and clergy, have contributed to the work, and the editors have mani- 
fested great care and judgment in the preparation, condensation, and 
arrangement of the large variety of topics, which are treated in alpha- 
betical order. 

The illustrations, specially engraved, are of superior excellence, while 
the maps have been prepared according to the latest geographical sur- 
veys, and represent all the countries on the globe, including maps of all 
the states and territories of this country. 

Numerous articles on American topics, written by American authors, 
are inserted. 

Nothing is lacking to make the work a popular, concise, and reliable 
encyclopaedia of universal knowledge. 

Printing and binding are 'all that the most fastidious book-lover 
might require. 

If you would like to see a specimen page of the text, or the charac- 
ter of the illustrations and articles, send your name and address to the 
publishers, 


Price, in cloth binding, $30.00. 

Sheep, 40.00. 
Half morocco, 45.00. 


J. B. L1PPINCOTT COMPANY, 


7 1 5 and 7 1 7 Market Street, 

PHILADELPHIA. 


62 


LIPPINCOTT'S MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 



NEW YORK EBERHARD FABER CHICAGO 

PENCILS, PEN-HOLDERS, ERASERS, 

RUBBER BANDS, PENCIL SHARPENERS, Etc. 

FOR SALE EVERYWHERE. 


LIPPINCOTT’S 

Steel pens 

LEADING STYLES. 
lfo.50,Falcon; No. 51, Bank; No. 52, Com- 
mercial; No. 59. Premium? No. 60, School; 
No. 62, Ladies’ Falcon; No. 72, Carbon; No. 
66* Universal; No. 67, Engrossing; No. 68» 
Lawyer’s; No. 73, Falcon Stub. 

75o. per Gross. 

Ask your Stationer for them or send to 

J. B. LIPPIKCOTT COMPANY, 

PHILADELPHIA. 

Send 1 0 cents for sample dozen. 


ESTABLISHED 1846. 


FRANKLIN 

PRINTING INK WORKS, 

JOHN WOODRUFF'S SONS, 

12 IV and. 1210 Cherry Street, 

PHILADELPHIA, PA. 

This Magazine is printed with John Woodruff’s Sons’ Inks 



H iom FIVE or euchre parties 

should send at once to John Sebastian. G.T.A, 
C R I & P R R , Chicago. TEN CENTS,, In stamps, 
ner pack for the slickest cards you ever shuffled. 
For $1.00 you will receive free, by express, ten packs. 


HOW TO SUCCEED. 

A well-written treatise oil Personal Magnetism and its 
development, toassure improvement in life, can behadby 
mentioningname anddate of thispaperand enclosing xoc, 
to Prof. Anderson, Masonic T emple, Chicago. This book 
should be read by everyone as itmeans the bettermentof 
moral, mental and physical manhood and womanhood, 
too pp. book on Hypnotism, ioc, Large book la, 


63 


WITH THE WITS. 



“ All this attachment, and 


LIPPINCOTT'S MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 



- 1 V'CsKffiSSS 

COPYRIGHT, IB94 

/ f v <. 

PATEMT^APPUED for 


A WHIST BOOK FREE 

To every reader of Lippincott’s Magazine, sending for one 
of our American Whist Packs during the next 30 days. Our 
object is to introduce the Butler System of Playing Whist 
with Four Extra Cards, a new and most valuable method of 
instruction, endorsed by Trist, Hamilton, Ames, and all leading 
whist authorities Also by Mrs. Jenks, Miss Wheelock, Miss 
Goddard, Miss Hyde, and other eminent teachers of whist. The 
leads and correct play learned easily and quickly without in- 
terrupting the game. Every possible combination and the 
proper lead therefrom found instantly on the extra cards in each 
pack (one being held by each player). Sample pack, with full 
directions, postpaid, 50 cents; special ivory whist size, 75 cent^ 
(a handsome holiday gift or prize). 

OUR BOOK, “ Whist in a Nutshell,” regular price, 25 
x ’ cents (free, as per above offer), con- 

tains complete information concerning the game ; straight whist, 
duplicate whist, whist terms, and etiquette ; laws and rules as 
adopted by the American Whist League, etc., etc. 


CT 

THE AMERICAN WHIST PACK CO., 457 Powers Block, Rochester, N. Y. 


DO YOU 


Or do you “play at it”? The 
American Leads, and correct play 
learned easily and quickly with- 
out interrupting the game, by 
means of the Butler system of 
Of AV playing Whist with four extra 
* 1 cards. Endorsed by Trist, Ham- 

' ilton, Paine, and all leading au- 
thorities. Sample pack, with full 
W 1*1 I . directions, post-paid, 50 cts. ; Spe- 
___________ cial Ivory whist size, 75 cts. (makes 

a handsome holiday gift). 

Ask your dealer, or send to us direct. 

AMERICAN WHIST PACK CO., 

457 Powers Block, Rochester, N. Y. 


The Pest Jlome Game. 

Adapted for either Children or Adults. 

Pareheesi. 



Duplicate Whist. 

The Tokalon Method is 
the BEST for straight 
Whist. 

Complete with play- 
ing cards, score cards, 
counters, etc., $2.00, 
$2.50, and $3.50 per set. 

Clark & Sowtlen, 
342 West 14th St., N. Y. City, 



Oamples of 40 colors 
on receipt of 10 cts. 


Crepe 

Tissue 0. T. BMMRM'S SOBS 

Paper 


Sole Manufacturers, 

Brooklyn, N. Y. 


GO 

7T 

2 G* 

*T3 O 

n 0 ^ 

»>< Q 

n u « 

(t r+- 

‘ a? 

Gk 

O 

3 


The Royal Game of India 

NO HOUSEHOLD COMPLETE, 

NO HOME HAPPY WITHOUT IT. 

No Parlor-Table Game has ever been published 
which has had so great a sale. For twenty years the 
best families have had it in their homes, and so en- 
joyed it that now it is always called for when the 
question arises, “ What shall we play ? 

The best game ever published. Sold by lead- 
ing Book, Stationery, Toy, and Department Stores 
in the United States, or mailed, postpaid, by 

SELCHOW & RIGHTER, 

390 Broadway, New York. 


[camera, lens, tripod, holder, 

A complete photographic equipment for 5 x 8 Pictures. 

iDstanlaneous TV T A 2_ 

LJ IN /Y b. subsH.u te . 

(Stirling Cm „„„„ OOUMS , 

Send for Catalogue. 

f a H T ANTHONY & CO., 591 Broadway, New York. 

t.-Obn. I , MITI I nw . ... -p- Postaee. 18 cents. 


Lx 


Tto International Annual for .894 is now ready. Price, ,5 cents. Postage, 


UTjxnAnjTjruuiJTTiiinjTJT^^ 


T jxnjuT J TJxn J TTiiiriJTJTriiTJT-riJTJTJxriJiJTi^ 


66 



WITH THE WITS. 


\ 









there you are l n 


6(5 





lippinco TT'S magazine advertiser. 


THE PENNSYLVANIA COMPANY 

FOR INSURANCES ON LIVES AND 
GRANTING ANNUITIES, 

No. 517 CHESTNUT STREET, 

INCORPORATED MARCH 10, 1812. 
CHARTER PERPETUAL. 


(TRUST AND SAFE DEPOSIT CO.) 


CAPITAL. 

SURPLUS 


• . $ 2 , 000,000 

. . 2 , 000,000 


Chartered to act as EXECUTOR, ADMINISTRA- 
TOR, TRUSTEE, GUARDIAN, ASSIGNEE, COM- 
MITTEE, RECEIVER, AGENT, etc. ; and for the 
faithful performance of all such duties all its Capital 
and Surplus are liable. 


ALL TRUST INVESTMENTS ARE KEPT 
SEPARATE AND APART FROM THE ASSETS 
OF THE COMPANY. 


INCOME COLLECTED AND REMITTED. 

INTEREST ALLOWED ON MONEY DEPOSITS. 

SAFES IN ITS BURGLAR-PROOF VAULTS 
FOR RENT. 


The protection of its Vaults for the preservation 
of WILLS offered gratuitously. 

Gold and Silver-Plate, Deeds, Mortgages, etc., re- 
ceived for safe-keeping under guarantee 


HENRY N. PAUL, President. 

JARVIS MASON, Trust Officer. 

L. C. CLEEMANN, Ass’t Trust Officer. 
JOHN J. R. CRAVEN, SECRETARY. 

C. S. W. PACKARD, Treasurer. 

WM. L. BROWN, ASS'T TREASURER. 


DIEECTOES. 


Lindley Smyth, 

Henry N. Paul, 
Alexander Biddle, 
Anthony J. Antelo, 
Charles W. Wharton, 
Edward H. Coates, 


Eugene Delano. 


Peter C. Hollis, 
John R. Fell, 
William W. Justice, 
Craige Lippincott, 
Edward S. Buckley, 
Beauveau Borie. 


r urrmjTJTJTnjmnnnjTTiJTJiJin 

A MODEL COMMUNITY in Southern 
n A D I n A amidst 25 clear lakes; 
r Lv I L/M high, rolling pine lands, 
free from malaria, swamps, and freezing. 

No Race Problem, because No Negroes. 

No Temperance Question — No Liquor. 

“Start Right, Keep Right.” 
500 Northern people; Church, School, P. O., 
Stores, etc.; 80 homes and families located the 

E ast year; 600 acres planted in Pine- apples, 
iEMONS, Oranges, Grapes, etc. 1000 tracts 
already sold ; many resold at 100 to 400 per ct. 
advance. $2 and upwards per mo. accepted. 
Cheap Hotel Board, cheap lumber, cheap trans- 
portation. Full information in our Florida 
Homeseeker monthly, 50 cts. a year. Sample __ 
Free. The Florida Development Co., Avon ^ 
5 Park, Fla., or 99 Franklin St., N. Y. 5 

dLruTJTjTmrrmjTrii^^ 


DENVER MORTGAGES, pro; 


to lOjt. Only 

r , . promising city with 

vast, rich tributary territory yet to develop. Great 
gold mining expansion. Safely made far Western 
loans are, after all, the best investment. Low valu- 
ations rule now. Abundant references. Free circu- 
lars. John E. Leet, 1515 Tremont St., Denver, Col. 


'30 


PER 

CENT 


PROFIT 

This Month 


\ 


— Anyone can participate in our en- 

ormous profits by sending us from ®10 to * 1 , 0 °°. 

Highest reference. Write for particulars to 

THE TRADERS SYNDICATE, 

Traders’ Building, CHICAGO, ILL# 

AGENTS WANTED, - 


High 

V 


/ 


Hard Times and Dull 

AS IT WAS THE 

Northwestern Masonic Aid Association 

OF CHICAGO, ORGANIZED 1874 , 

Gained during the year ending with September, 
1894, over the preceding fiscal year, 

$12,837,500 

in volume of new business written. 

The Association’s reputation for reliability, ac- 
quired by twenty years of conservative manage- 
ment, the attractive features of its 

LOW-RATE, ABSOLOTE-SECORITY PLAN 

And the enthusiastic energy of its agents consequent 
upon their realization of the unexcelled protective 
combination they represented, were concurrent 
factors in this remarkable achievement. 

It is possible your own and the interests of those 
whom you seek to protect by Life Insurance may 
he subserved by an investigation of the North- 
western Masonic. 


1 &- Non-Masons insured at same rates as 
Masonic Policy-Holders. 

J. A. STODDARD, Manager, Chicago, 111. 

Home Insurance Building, 

N. E. corner Adams and La Salle Streets. 

D. J. Avery, President. C. A. Capwell, Secretary. 

Please mention Lippincott’s when writing. 


r\ /a /a, er\ rr\tr\pr\ /a i/n fn Iffl t C\ tCi tC\ t fA- 

■'rKjj uj'Uj vr ww^vTvrvTtrrv7 vtutwtwt 

i MONEY MAKING S af!. as I™e. 1 

< » How often you hear some one say : “Oh ! he’s a mil- 
'rlionaire, No wonder ho can make money fast. Any 
$ one with a million can make another million easily 
enough.” Money makes money. Its possession acts 
like a giant magnet to attract more money. It is 
$ easier to make a million with a million than to make ; 

< » a hundred with a hundred. “Itis the first thousand 
9 that is the hardest of all to get.” But most mil- 
$lionaires started with nothing. You can succeed as; 
they have if you take advantageof every opportunity. 
Every business trade is a speculation. To buy low 
$and sell high is the aim of every trader no matter 
< » whether the article dealt in be cattle, shoes, clothing, 

'* wheat, bonds or stocks. Speculation is alike the life 
< J of trade and the source of vast fortunes. Trading in 
stock and grain pays bigger than trading in anything 
else. There is always a buyer ready. The market is 
$ constantly changing. Deals are quickly made. iou 

$ ~caninvest and re-invest your money many times the 
same day, realizingsmall, quick profitsin every trade. 

$ And these profits soon aggregate a large sum. Uur 
plan puts you on the same basis as a millionaire 

We take your money — $20 to $1000 — and put it with the 
< J money of 1000 others. We have a million to operate with, 
x We make money— make it quickly— safely. 

; > Here is the profit we have paid our customers since 

$ January 1, 1894. 

January 2, 12 per cent. 

$ 15. “ " 

February 1, 

15, 


i 

f, 

15, 


10 
11 “ 
15 “ 

9 “ 

8 “ 
9 “ 

8 1 - 2 “ 
8 “ 
8 


June 

July 

August 

Septem. 

October 


1, 

15, 

1, 

16, 

1, 

16, 

1, 

16, 

1, 

16, 


7 1-2 per cent. 
7 1-2 
7 1-2 

7 

8 
7 

7 1-2 

7 

8 
7 


s 

< J March 

< > April 
SMay 

' > Making’a total of 172 1-2 per cent in 289 days. 

<; A sum which in selling dry goods would require five 
( . years to earn, or in owning real estate would take 16 years 
* ) to earn. 

< f Our charge for making this profit for our customers is 

' * one-tenth of th eir net profit. 

We have never lost a dollar for any customer in any 
our combinations. 

We have not a dissatisfied customer. 

■», Money can be withdrawn at any time. 

* Profits sent promptly by check on the 1st and 16 th 

> day of each month. ... , 

Writet o us f o r further information, for free circulars 
and for our w eekly market report. Our system isinter- 
: esting even if you think you do not care to join us. 

I FISHEK CO., Stock and Grain Brokers, 

> 18 & 20 Broadway, New Y ork City. 


JO/! 


67 


(/? ( » ■ (/) (/? C fl (/)(/) UHfi 


WITH THE WITS . 



68 


“Is there,” she asked, “ some scheme occult “ Yes,” he responded. 44 Yes, there is 

To hasten on a quick result, A formula which reads like this : 

So that one need not wait an age ‘Marriage, divorce, tears, scandal, dress, 

r or recognition on the stage?” Press notices, then stage success,’ ” 



L IPPINCO TT’S MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 


> Y *i x3f POULTRY YARD] 

10S pp. 51st Ed. Written and soldi 
l>y a farmer and. Poultry- f 
man of 50 years experience 
I A. plain, practical System, I 
' easily learned. , Describes 
tbeir diseases, how to make | 
hens lay. Cholera, Gapes 
- A Roup yon need not have. L 
, , „ - Price,25c.(stamps). A Free! 

[Cad. A. M.IiANG, Box 321, Chicago, 111.1 


D. L. DOWD’S HEALTH EXERCISER. 

For Gentlemen, Ladies, Youths ; athlete 
orinvalid. Complete gymnasium; takes 
6in. or floor-room new, scientific, dur- 
able, cheap. Indorsed by 100,000 physi- 
cians, lawyers, clergymen, editors, and 
others now using it. illustrated circular, 
40 engravings, free. Address D. L. 
DOWD, Scientific, Physical, and Vocal 
Culture, 9 E. 14th Street, New York. 

Mandolins and Guitars 

with Metal Fingerboard. 

Powerful Tone. 

. 3.00 instrument for $15.00. On ap- ^ 
nroval. Send stamps for catalogue. 

THE WOLFRAM GUITAR CO., - Columbus, O. 




HOMES 


BYTHESEA. Pro,ected 


i by beau- 
tiful Islands. Game, Oys- 
ters, and Fish in abundance. 
Lemons, Oranges, Pineapples, and all sub-tropical Fruits 
and Flowers are grown to perfection. Climate delightful 
Summer and Winter. Land fertile, high anddry. Anookin 
n I ^ nm A comparatiyelyunknownthatoffers 
I L w f\l W t\ to settlers and to Winter visitors 
advantages not found elsewhere. Seekers after health, 
pleasure, or profit should read our Booklet, sent free, 

THE LEMON BATLAND CO., 1402 Old Colony Building., CHICAGO. 




a 

l 


* 

i 



YAU 

<;W « 1 



EVER / SEASON J/q)> 3/ o 
HAS It'S SPECIAL Jo/S 
buT Yale MiXTUf^e 
Smo^iNq Tobacco is a 

JOy FOR ALL SEASONS 
if noT foreVer. 

A 29?. TRIAL PA (K AGE. POST-PAID FoR25 Qs 

oQ^lMARBURG BROS /C)\£>~ 

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69 



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70 


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71 




LIPPINCOTT’S MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 


Lippincott’s Pronouncing 
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EDITION OF 1893, WITH LATEST CENSUS RETURNS. 
NEWLY REVISED AND ENLARGED. 


A complete Pronouncing Gazetteer or Geographical Dictionary of the 
World, containing notices of over 125,000 places, with recent and authentic 
information respecting the Countries, Islands, Rivers, Mountains, Cities, 
Towns, etc., in every portion of the globe. Originally edited by Joseph 
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In the preparation of this edition of “Lippincott’s Pronouncing Gazetteer of the 
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time included in its pages, — places that were unknown when former editions were 
issued, — but the contents of the entire volume have been subjected to such a thorough 
revision as, it is believed, will easily maintain for it the position, which it has so long 
occupied, of being without a rival among works of its class in the English language. 
Especially has it been the care of the editors, in the prosecution of their labors, to 
embody in the work such recent information as has lately been rendered available by 
the publication of the new census returns of our own and foreign countries and of other 
kindred works, and to so arrange this information that it will be practically useful for 
casual reference and convenient for those who may desire to make a more thorough 
acquaintance with the minutiae of geographical facts. 

Embraced in the more important improvements in the body of the work may be 
named the revision of the articles on the several States and Territories (including 
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73 


WITH THE WITS. 



The Astute Professor. 

Once a scientist went to the park, 
Where he made the facetious remark, 
“For a man with a gun 
There are more ways than one 
In the process of ‘having a lark.’ ” 


74 


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8 75 
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edition) in 2 00 

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75 


LIPPINCOTT’S MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 


A. A. Vantine & Co. 


Largest Importers ; Japan, China, India, Turkey, Persia. 

877 and 879 Broadway, New York. 


Oriental Furnishings 
For Holiday Gifts. 


Turkish Tabourets. 

Inlaid with pearl, polished setting. 
$7.25, 8.25, 12.00, and 17.50 
each. 

In oak, cherry, ash, mahogany, all 
hardwoods, three sizes. $3.00, 
3.75, and 5.00 each. 


India Seats. 

Unequalled for comfort and artistic 
effect. Finished in 
oak, cherry, ebony, 
maple, mahogany, 
walnut, white en- 
amel. $3.50 each. 

The Vantine Stool. 



Cairo Folding Stands. 

For serving coffee, 
ices, fruit, etc. Made 
in oak, white maple, 
or mahogany, with 
detachable tray. With 
tray, $6.00. Without 

tray, $5.00. 


For foot-rest or seat. New and 
artistic design. Finished in same 
woods as India Seat. Two sizes, 
$1.00 and 1.75 each. 

Chinese Bamboo Chairs. 

Made of twisted bamboo, with 
partly reclining back. “Effective 
and easy.” $2.75 each. 



BAMBOO FURNITURE, 

In many varied and graceful designs. All requisite pieces 


Corner Chairs, $6.50 and 7.00 each. 
Rockers, $8.00 and 10.00 each. 
Settees, $12.00. Two styles. 
Chairs, $7.00 and 10.00 each. 
JTusic Racks, $2.25, 3.50, 5.00 each. 


Umbrella Stands, $1.25 each. 
Smoking Tables, $3.00, $3.50, and! 
6.00 each. 

Pedestals, $2.00 to 3.00. 

Tables, round, square, octagon, $3.50. 


Any desired pattern in bamboo furniture made to order. 


For artistic and useful gifts, consult our general catalogue. Sent upon 
application. Mail orders filled promptly. 

76 




^ U fe kiltie 

Home Office, 

Cor. Broadway & Duane St., New-York. 

Saving in Premiums. 


MUTUAL RESERVE BUILDING. 

1881. The Eloquence of Results . 1894. 


No. OF POLICIES IN FORCE, over . . 85,000 

Interest Income, annually, exceeds . . . $180,000 

Bi-Monthly Income exceeds 750,000 

RESERVE Emergency Fund 8,725,500 

Death Claims paid, over 20,000,000 

New Business in 1893 over 64,000,000 

INSURANCE IN FORCE exceeds . . . 280,000,000 


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In Europe and America. 



Highest of all in leavening strength. 

—TJ. S. Government Food Report. 

Unequalled for purity, strength, and wholesome- 
ness. — New York State Analyst. 


Unlike the Dutch Process, 

no Alkalies or other chemicals or Dyes are used, 
in any of their preparations. Their delicious 

BREAKFAST COCOA 

is absolutely pure and soluble, and 
costs less than one cent a cup. 


The best baking powder made. 


—N. Y. City Commissioner of Health. 


ROYAL BAKING POWDER CO., 106 WALL ST., N. Y. 


BUTTERMILK TOILET SOAP. 


A Soap 
that is all 
Soap is 



Toilet 

Soap. 


If you have ever 
used it, then you 
know what pure 
soap is, and what 
it means to be 
sweet, clean and 
happy. 

Buttermilk Toilet 
Soap is for 1 sale by all 
d ealer s. Price, 10 cents. 

By mail, 12 cents. 

Cosmo Buttermilk Soap Co. # 
188-187 Wabash JLvc, f 
CHICAGO. 



BUTTERMILK TOILET SOAP. 


SOLD BV GROCERS EVERYWHERE. 


WALTER BAKER & CO., 

DORCHESTER, JVIASS. 

The Greatest Medical Discovery of the Age. 

KENNEDY’S 

MEDICA L DI SCOVERY. 

DONALD KENNEDY, of ROXBURY, MASS., 

Has discovered in one of our common 
pasture weeds a remedy that cures every 
kind of Humor, from the worst Scrofula 
down to a common Pimple. 

He has tried it in over eleven hundred 
cases, .and never failed except in two cases 
(both thunder humor). He has now in his 
possession over two hundred certificates 
of its value, all within twenty miles of 
Boston. Send postal card for book. 

A benefit is always experienced from 
the first bottle, and a perfect cure is war- 
ranted when the right quantity is taken. 

When the lungs are affected it causes 
shooting pains, like needles passing 
through them ; the same with the Liver 
or Bowels. This is caused by the ducts 
being stopped, and always disappears in 
a week after taking it. Read the label. 

If the stomach is foul or bilious it will 
cause squeamish feelings at first. 

No change of diet ever necessary. Eat 
the best you can get, and enough of it. 
Dose, one tablespoonful in water at bed- 
time. Sold by all Druggists. 


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